


Love Me Tender

by littlejedi



Category: Long Exposure (Webcomic)
Genre: 1950s, Greaser AU, Light Smut, M/M, mostly plot and fluff hahaaaaa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-11 07:34:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11709792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlejedi/pseuds/littlejedi
Summary: Jonas Wagner is a certified square. A total nosebleed. A nerd.That doesn't stop him from loving bad-news Mitch Mueller, the toughest hotrodder this side of the tracks.But love in Sellwood, California in 1957 is a complicated issue.1950s au





	1. Sellwood

**Author's Note:**

> Back again... I write too many mitjo fics! Ah! I tried to make everything somewhat accurate, but please point out any inaccuracies you find so I can correct them. Lots of fun music refs in this fic, my personal favorite in the title. "Love Me Tender" is such a beautiful song by Elvis (def a mitjo song, tears will be shed if you listen.)
> 
> On a serious note I do want to put a trigger warning out there, the boys experience homophobia in this fic. No slurs will be used.
> 
> All lovely characters belong to Mars!
> 
> Happy reading!

Jonas’ knapsack feels unfamiliarly empty on his shoulders without all his textbooks crammed inside. Not like he’s complaining, though. This is the first time he can remember a weekend where he had nothing due the coming Monday; no quiz or exam or assignment that could bog down his weekend.

Which means he can dedicate his whole weekend to his blue-jean-wearing, wicked-smiling, grease-stained hotrodder. Mitch also seems to have big plans for them this weekend, or at least that’s how it’d seemed this morning.

He’d sauntered to Jonas’ locker, unlit cigarette dangling from his wolfish grin as he greeted him with a cheery but quiet, “Mornin’ babydoll.”

“Good morning,” he’d responded softly, a flush illuminating his face. Mitch had gotten better lately about being more secretive about them at school. His boldness had started to get the best of him, and Jonas was worried people were beginning to suspect things and gossip.

“I have got a night planned for you, let me tell ya,” the tall boy continued, leaning a sharp shoulder against the metal doors next to Jonas’ locker and crossing his arms.

“Oh, really?” Jonas couldn’t help the coy smile which spread across his face.

“Yup. I got bread,” Mitch said, pulling some folded bills out of his leather jacket and fanning them proudly in the air, “So I’m takin’ you out somewhere special.”

“Mitch!” Jonas squeaked, shoving the boy’s hand back into his jacket. “Goodness, be a little more modest! What was that, something like 8 dollars? How’d you get that?” Someone could really get wailed on for that kind of money around Sellwood High... which might’ve actually explained how Mitch acquired that kind of money.

“Cool it, I just had a little business deal go real smooth,” he grinned. Without explaining any further, he’d continued, “And try 11 dollars. Meet me in the senior parking lot after school and you’ll see what I got planned for ya. With dough like this, I can afford to take you somewhere you deserve and not just to makeout point.” He waggled his eyebrows as Jonas groaned, growing redder.

“Is the gang coming?”

“Nope. Just me ‘n you tonight, baby,” he purred with a wink. “3 o’clock sharp. At my car.”

Jonas’ stomach prickles with excitement as he’s pulled out of dreamland by the shrill 2:55 bell. Slamming his locker shut and jogging out the front doors, he makes his way to the senior parking lot. He weaves in and out of Buicks and Hudsons, accidentally hip-checking the mirror on a baby-blue Dodge as he speedwalks towards the back corner. He sidesteps Carmen, lounging on the hood of Neil’s Cadillac and giggling as she squeezes a random football player’s bicep through his letterman jacket. The sight of Cliff’s canary yellow T-Bird lights him up, and he begins to walk faster.

The back corner of the lot is home to the cars belonging to greasers and hotrodders. Though his friends own some of the ugliest jalopies in the whole place, he can’t help but smile at the sight of them. The flame detailing along the side’s of Mitch’s rusting hotrod gleams in the sun, a gift from Scratch for fixing her Bel-Air’s shoddy transmission. Their cars are rusting and dinged-up, but in a way they become beautiful once you realize the work and love put into them.

Jonas may never understand the lure of working underneath a hot car and having motor oil leaked all over you, but it always enchants him to watch Mitch and his friends toil away in the garage which belongs to Javier’s family. Jonas acts as their tool boy, handing Scratch the odd monkey wrench or getting the right size socket setter for Cliff as the radio croons with Johnny Cash’s latest hit.

Though he’ll take it to his grave, it drives him absolutely wild to see Mitch roll out from underneath his hotrod, humming ‘I Walk the Line’ with his white t-shirt sticking to his slender abdomen from sweat as he wipes the grease from his fingers.

“There you are lil bro! Mitch wouldn’t stop yapping about you bein’ late,” Javier laughs his throaty, rough chuckle as he ashes his cigarette onto the pavement with heavily tattooed fingers. With a frown he feverishly brushes some stray ash of the tail of his DeSoto, inspecting the paint for burns.

“Mitch, it’s not even 3 yet!” Jonas laughs, and Mitch grins sheepishly while he pulls the passenger door open for him.

“You’d think it were 5 by th’way he’s been bitchin, impatient ass,” Cliff chuckles.

“Cliff, you ain’t special just ‘cuz you’re dumb patient! You’re the fella who’d lay with his mouth open and wait for it to rain just to get a drink!” Scratch counters quickly, and the gang laughs as Cliff flicks his toothpick at her.

Jonas slides into the worn front seat of the car and leans out, waving to his friends as they tear away. Scratch singsongs a “Have fun!” over the roar of the engines, and finally it’s just the two of them.

“Ready for the night of your life, angel?” Mitch smiles at him and rests a hand against his knee. His heart stutters as he grins in return. “Gonna be a bit of a ride, though,” Mitch warns as he starts the car and pulls out of the lot.

With the windows open and radio tuned to the rock ‘n roll station, they fly down winding back roads illuminated emerald in the afternoon sun by the evergreen trees which loom over them.

“Where on God’s green earth are you taking me?” Jonas giggles after nearly an hour in the car.

“Well, if I’m goin’ the right way, you should get your answer in just a minute, but I don’t- HA! Here we are!” Mitch beams. Over the line of trees, Jonas sees the very top of a ferris wheel. His eyes widen and he looks to Mitch excitedly.

“What? _What?!_ We- we must be at least 2 towns over! How did you _know_ about this? I love it! I’m so excited, I’ve never been to a fair or _anything!_ Are there games? Wait, are the rides scary? I know we won’t do any that go too high because you don’t like heights but I-”

“Damn, Joey! Cool it for one minute! You’ll find out soon,” he scolds, but his toothy grin tells Jonas just how proud he is of his idea. Jonas stretches his hand out, catching Mitch’s fingers.

“This is... so wonderful. It’s perfect,” he sighs dreamily, and Mitch lifts his freckled fingers up to kiss them softly.

“Night’s only gettin’ started, you just wait,” he hums proudly against Jonas’ knuckles.

The carnival might be one of the most exciting places he’s ever been. It smells like spun sugar and hay, and the lights of the game booths flash into the sky in all colors. He feels absurdly, undeservingly pampered as Mitch buys him a pretzel and popcorn and takes him to each booth, offering to win him any prize he desires. Jonas only laughs him off, not letting him spend the money until they come to a particular stand. A sleazy looking guy with a pencil mustache calls out to them.

“Heya, long legs and short stack, come on over and win! You’s guys look like two strapping young fellas, all you need is a good arm to win and any prize is yours.” Before they can walk past, Jonas stops, looking up to a plush bear hung from the top of the rickety wooden stand.

“That’s a cute bear,” he says, not looking over to Mitch but secretly hoping that just _maybe_ -

“It’s yours,” Mitch says determinedly, and he grins to himself. “Alright dirtbag, I’ll bite,” Mitch continues, and the man smiles.

“25 cents gets ya 3 balls,” he says, giving Mitch change for the dollar he slides over the counter and producing 3 haggard baseballs from the pack on his hip. “Knock all the milk bottles down and small fry gets his bear. It’s cake.”

Mitch narrows his eyes and winds up, chucking the first ball towards the bottles. It misses by an inch, and Jonas squeezes his arm.

“It’s okay, you still have two more tries,” he attempts to calm him, but Mitch’s jaw is set firmly. The second ball skirts against the lip of the top bottle but not disturbing it in the slightest. He grumbles to himself and grips his final ball with white knuckles. He winds up exaggeratedly, and with a hard toss he nails the bottles dead on.

Despite his perfect shot, they barely even shudder.

“Oh, so close! Tell ya what, for 50 more cents I’ll give ya 8 balls, that’s 2 for free,” the man says with a shrug, extending his palm to Mitch. He yelps as a big fist twists into the collar of his shirt, yanking him forward over the booth.

“Listen you rat,” Mitch hisses through gritted teeth as Jonas freezes, “I fuckin’ nailed those bottles. I know you’re tryin’ to swindle me, but joke’s on you. I ain’t some yuppie who’ll pay up. So if you wanna make it through this with all your teeth still in your mouth, you’ll give me my money back _and_ get me that bear.”

Jonas remains wide-eyed and still as Mitch shoves the carnie back into the booth. He skitters off the ground, tossing the quarter onto the counter and scrambling up a ladder to retrieve their prize. He tosses the bear at Jonas with a mixture of anger and fear in his eyes before retreating behind the stand, muttering something about needing a cigarette. Jonas laughs incredulously once before looking up to Mitch. He’s met with a signature dumb, lovesick smile, which he happily returns. Mitch nods at the bear.

“That thing’s kinda ugly, you sure you want that one?” he asks, running a hand affectionately over Jonas’ hair.

“Hey,” he frowns, “don’t talk about him like that. He’s handsome,” he protests, clutching the bear against his chest. Mitch puts his hands up in mock defense.

“Shit, sorry, I forgot you like ‘em ugly. What’s his name?” Jonas looks from the bear to Mitch, and glances at the carnie smoking behind the booth. He smiles goofily.

“His name’s long legs.”

“That’s dumb,” Mitch retorts with a similar smile, “If he were cuter, I woulda named him short stack.”

Long Legs the bear remains tightly in his clutch through their visit. He holds the doll close on the ferris wheel, watching the sky fade to pink over the tree tops. Mitch is bouncing his leg nervously, obviously trying hard not to look down or over the horizon. Jonas can feel his amber eyes locked on him the entire ride, and he doesn’t even try to ignore how special they make him feel.

Once they’ve ridden every ride twice, gotten a cherry snow-cone and one more pretzel, and played all the games they wanted to, the sky is darkening. They make their way back to the hay-covered parking lot, sliding into the car and pulling away from the carnival. A short distance into their drive, Jonas looks over to Mitch.

“Thanks. Really. I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun... and I love my bear.” His smile falters as he sees Mitch’s eyebrows pull together.

“Uh, yeah, any time,” he says hurriedly, looking into the rearview mirror.

“W-what’s wrong?” he asks hesitantly.

“Think I took a wrong turn...” Mitch trails off as he takes a left down a dark road, leading them to the edge of a wheat field. “Uh-oh, baby... looks like I got us lost. We might even have to spend the night.”

Jonas scoffs, trying to regulate his heartbeat as Mitch slides closer with a wolfish grin, pinning him to the passenger door.

“You jerk!” he scolds, “You know exactly where we are!” Mitch only makes a noncommittal noise, closing his eyes and leaning down to press his lips softly against Jonas’. Immediately, Jonas melts, sighing into the taller boy’s mouth and winding his arms around his neck. Big hands reach down to grip his sides, sliding lovingly against the bumps and curves of his stomach, making him mewl into the kiss. His neck is attacked with kisses and nibbles and sucks as he tosses his head back, allowing Mitch access to his skin.

For a few blissful moments, the space around them is silent aside from the sounds of their kissing, moans, and heavy breathing. Mitch’s daring hands slide to his butt and squeeze playfully, then move to stroke his thighs, starting at the knee and moving up slowly. His breath hitches as Mitch groans, low and rough, against his mouth. Just as his heart feels like it may beat out of his chest, the cab of the car is illuminated by headlights from behind them. They pull apart immediately, flying to opposite ends of the cab as a car door opens and slams shut. Footsteps crunch on the gravel as the man makes his way to the driver’s window and leans down.

“Evening. You... uh, you boys are on private property. What you up to tonight?” An officer with a thick moustache and piercing blue eyes questions. “You aren’t smoking dope, are you?”

“Nope,” Mitch answers curtly. “Lost.”

“So... I assume you two pulled off onto this road to look at a map. That it?” The edge in his voice makes Jonas’ stomach turn.

“Yup.”

“Where you need to get?”

“Sellwood,” Mitch answers through gritted teeth, obviously wanting to leave.

“Take a right outta here then follow route 2,” the cop leans in threateningly close to Mitch, who stares forward at the field with hard eyes. “And I think it’d be best for you boys if you got back to where you came from _real_ quickly.”

“Gotta move your car,” Mitch answers, and the officer stands back up. He retreats to his car and moves it only slightly out of the way. Mitch turns the hotrod around quickly, and they drive slowly past the officer. Icy blue eyes are locked on them, following the car as Jonas looks down at his hands. His heart thuds uncomfortably as they drive in silence for a while before Mitch’s big hand lands on his knee and he jolts out of his thoughts with a jump.

“Guess that ruined the night. Fuckin’ prick... I had more for you tonight, but if you don’t wanna... I understand. I can bring you back home,” his voice is gentle, but something underneath it is hurt.

“Oh, n-no! It’s not ruined, I’m just shaken up, is all. Take me wherever you want to go,” he answers, and the way the corners of Mitch’s mouth turn up just slightly calm the thumping in his chest a bit.

“Good, ‘cuz I’ve still got 8 dollars left to spend on you.”

“You’re not spending that on me tonight,” Jonas says firmly, “You’ve already spent more than enough.”

“If you say so, angel. I’ll save it for next weekend,” he finishes with a snicker. Jonas rolls his eyes but inches over, nudging against his arm which rises to snake around him. He settles his head against Mitch’s shoulder as the sun sets over the horizon, cascading darkness over them. Mitch turns up the radio as ‘Cry, Cry, Cry’ comes on, and Jonas smiles to himself.

His foul-mouthed greaser is so different when it’s just the two of them. He lets himself be goofy and jolly. He lets himself laugh much more. He’s open and gentle, and Jonas’ favorite, he loves to sing. Especially Johnny. Sometimes, at Jonas’ begging, he’ll sing Elvis. But Mitch always says Johnny’s outlaw persona is _much_ cooler, so he’s more willing to sing his songs.

He giggles as Mitch tries to hit a high note but is interrupted by his voice cracking harshly, following it with a loud guffaw at himself. Despite his warbling, Mitch is actually a pretty decent singer, and Jonas presses his face into his leather jacket to conceal his smile. The tall boy warbles out the last few lyrics before Jonas pulls back, clapping and whooping as Mitch tosses his head back to laugh.

“Now if only you’d sing me more Elvis,” Jonas sighs, sneaking a smile at Mitch, who snorts.

“I don’t think so. Shit’s yuppie music, Spots.”

“Well I’m a yuppie then!”

“I knew that,” he teases, and Jonas knocks him in the stomach, “Kiddin, just kiddin! Whatcha wanna hear?” He looks expectantly at Jonas, who taps his chin for a moment before a wide, mischievous grin spreads across his cheeks. He holds up Long Legs the bear.

“No.” Mitch states.

“Yes,” he pleads, “sing ‘Teddy Bear!’ C’mon. Come _on.”_

“Never. That song’s _so square_ , Joey.”

“Please!”

“No.”

_“... Please?”_ Mitch’s eyes dart to Jonas, and he groans. A pout is plastered over his freckled face. He knows Mitch is weak against this pout, and he inches closer.

“Ugh,” Mitch groans, covering his eyes. Jonas pokes his arm.

“ _Oh let me be_ ,” he starts, singing poorly but loudly as he nudges Mitch’s arm again. “... _beeeee-_ ” he continues expectantly. Mitch huffs, but he’s grinning.

“ _I just wanna be your teddy bear,_ ” he sings, dropping his voice low as Jonas shrieks out a laugh. Mitch joins him, shaking his head quickly. “Yeah, you better’ve enjoyed that, ‘cuz that’s the most of that fuckin’ song you’ll ever get outta me.”

“You say that now. You used to say you’d never sing any Elvis, and here you are,” he says proudly.

“Actually, I know what Elvis song I’ll be singin’ for you.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“ _You’re so square, baby, I don’t care,_ ” Mitch’s low voice is back with a teasing edge as he pops an eyebrow and shimmies his shoulders. Jonas scoffs.

“Tease me if you want, but you know all the lyrics!”

“Joey, all you play in the car is that damn Elvis station, how can’t I?” Mitch says playfully as he parks the car, and Jonas looks outside in confusion.

They’re back in Sellwood, he’s pretty sure of that. But they’ve stopped in an area that is usually described by natives as “on the other side of the tracks,” or “unclean.” He gulps at the building they’ve parked next to. It’s an old, worn-down lumber mill which hasn’t been functional in years. He’s actually pretty sure it’d closed down in the early 20’s because of an awful fire which killed most of the laborers inside. Mitch seems unbothered as he hops out of the car, opening Jonas’ door to pull him out and under his heavy arm.

“W-where are we?” his voice wavers. “This place looks like a tinderbox... is it even safe?”

“Oh it’s a hot scene alright,” Mitch snickers to himself and rubs Jonas’ tense shoulder. “Trust me.”

They walk into heavy metal doors which groan as Mitch pushes through them. Immediately, Jonas coughs and brings a hand to his watering eyes. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and it smells faintly of whiskey. They amble down a corridor, and Jonas peeks into an open space.

Two men, shirtless and bruised with taped fists square-off in a homemade ring. Drunken shouts and goads from their meager audience lead them on. The floor is spattered with blood. Jonas gasps and looks away as one man connects with the other’s nose, and the crunch makes his stomach ache.

Mitch hurries them down a slender hallway, away from the boxers, but he peeks into another room. A woman- a girl, really- wearing nothing but skimpy underwear and stilettos tosses her hair and shimmies on stage. She dances to a sensual jazz song as a few men watching wolf whistle and reach up to stroke at her ankles. He slaps a hand over his eyes as she bends at the waist.

“Damn, it’s wild tonight. Prob’ly should’ve taken ya through the back entrance,” Mitch muses to himself, and Jonas’ stomach tightens. Anywhere that has a back entrance cannot be a good place. They walk down yet another menacing hallway. Jonas’ ears prick up.

Is that... Little Richard he hears playing?

They continue, and the music grows louder. He starts to smell cooking meat and frying potatoes as the corridor becomes bright with the glow of pink neon A glowing arrow flashes, advertising ‘malts!’ while another on the opposite wall flashes green, promoting ’25-record jukebox!’ The sound of laughter and clattering dishes fills the air as Mitch guides him past a mural on the wall.

A hotrod and a cruiser burst through a checkered flag over words in bright red letters.

‘Ru’s Place’ it reads, ‘For all!’

“Are we- wait, we’re at a soda fountain? You took me through this place for a-a _diner?”_

“Not just any diner, Joey,” Mitch says, sounding a little defensive. They walk through a glass door into a shockingly bright and cheery room.

The seats alternate from bubblegum pink to baby blue to hotrod green, rising out of a black and white tile floor. They stand proudly in front of a bar with a white Formica top, sprinkled with glasses and menus and cute little ketchup bottles. Cozy booths lined with chrome detail populate the right side of the diner, and just past the bar are other sets of booths, these one with black pleather benches. A glowing jukebox sits at the furthest wall, blaring the Little Richard song he’d heard in the hallway.

“Mitchy, doll!” The voice makes him jump. A man approaches them, his flawlessly tailored navy suit perfectly pressed. As he sashays towards them, the curls of his enormous blonde wig bounce jovially. He carries menus in one hand and a plate of mouthwatering food in another. “Oh my, is this the cat we’ve heard so much about?” he purrs with a wink in Jonas’ direction. Beneath his large dark-rimmed glasses, his eyes are painted heavily with maroon glitter. Rouge colors his brown cheeks, and electric pink lipstick graces his smile. Jonas’ mouth is dry.

“Yup, and he needs a milkshake.”

“It’s nice to meet you, kitten. You all take a seat anywhere you desire,” with a flick of his neck, his hair bounces and he glides off to another table. Mitch guides him to a booth in the back left corner with a nice view of the entire restaurant. He had been so glued on the man in front of them, he hadn’t noticed how busy it was. Almost every booth and bar seat is occupied.

“Is that a man or a woman?” Jonas hisses lowly once they settle into the booth. Mitch frowns.

“Usually we don’t ask that ‘round here. But Ru’s a man. He’s a queen, they dress up and do makeup. It’s called drug... drank? No- drag.” Mitch says casually, eyes scanning the menu. “So baby, I’m guessin’ you’re in the mood for a strawberry malt? We can getcha fries if you want, too-”

“W-what is this place?” He squeaks, interrupting Mitch as the cook emerges from the white kitchen door. He has a magnificent beard and a flawlessly coifed beehive, standing tall in a pair of black heels.

“A diner,” Mitch shrugs.

“A homosexual diner?” Jonas whispers, as if it’s dirty. Mitch guffaws.

“No. Just a safe diner. You saw the sign, it’s for everyone.”

“Everyone... who’s gay?” He asks, cocking his head. Mitch huffs exasperatedly.

“No, okay... look over into the booth by the door.” Jonas cranes his neck up. Relaxed in the blue bench is Police Chief MacPherson, Dean’s boss at the station.

“Oh my gosh,” Jonas hisses, “He’s gay?!”

“No, Joey, that’s my point. _He’s_ not, but his son is. He’s here ‘cuz this is the only safe place his son can take his boyfriend out. So Chief meets ‘em here on Friday nights after his shift. Buys ‘em sundaes. Only semi-alright pig I ever met.” Jonas furrows his eyebrows in confusion.

“Is that... Joseph, from study period?” He asks, staring at a girl in a plaid dress at the hightop bar.

“Her name's Madeline. Ru makes sure anyone’s welcome here. We’re safe, and we can be ourselves,” he says, glancing up at the man who saunters over.

“I thought I heard something about a strawberry malt, so I went ahead and whipped one up. Anything else for you cats tonight?” Ru purrs, his voice velvety.

“Some fries for my baby, huh?” Mitch smiles up, handing the menu over, and Jonas flushes. It feels so strange for Mitch to claim him so openly, in front of everyone. Strange and nice. He busies himself studying the milkshake to keep from blushing too hard. The elegant, tall glass sweats with condensation from the cold pink ice cream beneath. The cherry on top drips red liquid down the high pile of whipped cream on top. Scattered over the whipped cream are heart-shaped sprinkles.

He blushes harder.

“This l-looks really yummy- oh, but we only got one straw,” Jonas says.

“Only need one. I hate strawberry malt,” Mitch wrinkles his nose and grins. Jonas starts to sputter and protest, but Ru returns and drops a basket of sizzling french fries onto the table. His mouth waters at the sight, and he forgets his protests in lieu of stealing a hot fry from the basket and popping it in his mouth. He winces at the heat but chews nonetheless, humming happily at the crunchiness as Mitch leans his elbows on the table and rests his chin in his hands. Jonas leans in to take a sip of the milkshake, his eyes widening as he gulps.

It tastes twice as good as it looks, and he swipes up a finger-full of whipped cream and sprinkles. He plucks the cherry off the top and licks the whipped cream off. He notices Mitch staring and offers the cherry silently over the table. Mitch’s mouth drops open, and with a giggle he places it onto his tongue. A yelp escapes him as big teeth catch he tip of his finger gently, and he pulls his hand back quickly with a musical laugh. Mitch’s goofy smile grows.

“You’re just the prettiest damn thing in the world, y’know that?” He mutters, chewing, and Jonas coughs on his sip of shake. Big feet nudge against his shins under the table. Sure that he’ll combust if he looks at Mitch, he instead stares out into the restaurant. He sits up higher, realizing just how many people he recognizes in here.

In the booth across from them, he spots Sarah from calculus. Her long legs are tucked beneath the table as she stretches both arms over to hold hands with a small girl who tosses her head back in laughter. He narrows his eyes, trying to place her familiar melodic giggle. When she leans to take a sip from their half-gone chocolate milkshake, he recognizes Kris, who works in the flower shop next to the school.

Another girl rises from her seat at the bar, pushing her wild, dark hair away from her face as she makes her way to the jukebox. It’s Angie, who lives a street over from him. She bites her tongue as she flips through the record selection, leaning close to the glass before she grins triumphantly and slides a nickel into the slot. A jazzy trumpet fills the diner and her Chuck Taylors squeak against the tile as she bounces back to her seat, laughing at the waitress behind the bar who whoops and shimmies to the music.

Two jocks he doesn’t know well enter through the door and Ru flies over to them, kissing one on the forehead and pinching the other on the cheek, guiding them to the bartop where the cook grins at them. When they settle into their seats, Jonas realizes they’ve traded varsity jackets and are wearing each other’s last name on their back.

A flash of pink darts by them. Rose, who he had fine arts class with Sophomore year, flits over to an abandoned table and quickly collects the empty dishes and glasses onto a tray. Her hair is pulled into a ponytail, but she seems frazzled as pieces fall over her face. She wipes her hands on her pink dress, ignoring the already soiled apron around her waist, and jumps nearly a foot when a voice singsongs, “Rosie, baby!” from the kitchen. She darts back through the white door and disappears.

He balks as he lays eyes on one of Sue’s friends, a woman with a husband and children, talking quietly over a sandwich with another older woman. Sue’s friend reaches up to brush a lock of hair away from her companion’s face, and a hand comes up to press her palm into the woman’s cheek. His heart tugs as they smile softly at one another.

He’s never been to a place where everyone seemed... this happy. He didn’t know people like this- or a place like this- even existed. It’s forward and open and accepting. There’s a strange feeling in his gut as he realizes how many people from town, school, and church are here. He knows almost every patron by name, and if not he at least recognizes the face.

“So... so many people we know...” he trails off as Mitch nods.

“Yeah. Community’s bigger’n you’d think, but it’s all underground. This is one a’ the only safe places in Sellwood, pretty much only because Chief protects it,” Mitch mumbles distractedly, his jaw and mouth moving strangely as he keeps his lips almost pressed together. Jonas ignores his strange chewing motions.

“All these people know about us then? Everyone just... keeps quiet?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles through his lips, “I mean shit, everyone’s sharin’ the same secret round here, so if you rat someone out you rat yourself out, too.” Victoriously, he pulls the cherry stem out of his mouth and presents it proudly to Jonas.

“Uh... A wet cherry stem? Wow?” Jonas laughs, and Mitch stares at it in confusion.

“What- fuck. It was s’posed to be in a knot,” he grumbles, tossing it back into his mouth to try again. It takes him 3 attempts and Jonas watches each one, smiling softly while finishing off his meal. Picking at the last crunchy pieces of french fry, the cherry stem knot on a napkin next to the basket, he starts to thank Mitch again for the wonderful evening.

“Don’t say that yet” he interrupts, “There’s one last place we should go.”

The night sky is so brightly illuminated by the big full moon and countless stars that it casts a silver glow over the woods. The road they drive down is familiar, protected by a canopy of tall trees. They pull slowly into a clearing, the open windows blowing Jonas’ curls haphazardly around his head like a halo. The sound of waves makes his ears prick up, and the air is suddenly salty and briny. His face brightens and curls into an over-excited grin as he looks over to Mitch. Mitch only glances back at him with a sly, knowing smile.

He pulls the car to the edge of a rocky cliff, overlooking a quant beach. The sand glitters gray in the light as the waves sparkle, reflecting the night sky and lazily cascading onto the beach only to be pulled back to the sea again. He shuts the engine off, but leaves the radio on.

Mitch shoots Jonas a smile before getting out of the car, scrambling around the front of the hot rod to reach his door before Jonas can open it himself. Just like he always does.

The gesture is romantic, but not exactly suave as he slips on the dewy grass and shouts a curse, catching himself on the side mirror. Jonas laughs into his hand as Mitch composes himself and opens his door, extending his big hand to him with his palm up. Jonas can only bite his lip to contain his smile as he takes it, and the taller boy helps him out of the car.

The air is a chilly, and Jonas curls in on himself, hugging his free arm around himself tightly.

“Cold?” Mitch asks, and he nods. The big hand around his disappears. He feels a warm, smoke-scented leather jacket drape over his shoulders as he stares out to the sea. He looks up, but Mitch just leads him to the front of the car. He can’t help but let out a squeak as strong hands lift him effortlessly and place him on the hood before Mitch hops up next to him.

The heavy arm, seemingly ever-present around his shoulder lately, returns as Mitch pulls him down backward. They lay on the hood, his head resting comfortably against a bony shoulder.

Their voices are so quiet they’re barely audible over the sound of the waves. They find shapes in the stars, point out the ones that shine brighter, watch intently for any that might shoot across the sky. When they fall into silence, Jonas tunes his ears back to the radio.

“Is this my Elvis station?” he questions hesitantly, not wanting to interrupt their moment.

“Mm,” is the confirmation against his hair.

“I didn’t think you liked Elvis.”

“He’s fine. But I know you like him,” Mitch mumbles. It sounds casual, but it makes Jonas’ face burn. Before he can respond, ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ begins to play. He bolts upright, turning around to a startled-looking Mitch with excitement in his eyes.

“I _love_ this song!” he says elatedly, grabbing at Mitch’s sinewy arm and tugging, “C’mon, let’s dance!” Mitch snorts in response.

“Uhhh, no. I don’t dance, Spots.”

“Please,” he whines, pulling a bit harder.

“No, I’m a shit dancer.”

“Well so am I! But no one’s around to see us, so come be a lousy dancer with me,” he pouts. “You know... I wouldn’t dance with anyone else... so if you don’t dance with me, I guess I’ll never dance again,” he teases, a pathetic, over-exaggerated sigh leaving him as he closes his eyes. He cracks one open to peek at the taller boy. Mitch looks at him skeptically, but slides off the hood to stand in front of him. He lights up in a smile.

Jonas takes his hands, and for a moment it’s just him twisting his hips alone. With a huff and a smile, he yanks Mitch down to throw his arms around his shoulders. His laughter is soon joined by raspy guffaws as Mitch’s body begins to move with his.

It’s awkward, and probably a terribly painful sight as the twist and bop and jive in a messy rhythm, never quite matching the song. Mitch has to bend down quite a bit to get his hands on Jonas’ waist, and their knees knock, but their laughter never dies. Mitch spins him, tosses him out to arm’s length, pulls him close and bounces their hips in rhythm as he cackles roughly.

The song ends too soon. Jonas is breathing heavily, giggling through his labored pants, and Mitch looks equally as burnt out. Still wound tightly in strong arms, he looks up, resting his hands against Mitch’s chest.

“Y’know,” he starts with a smile, “I think you’re a swell dancer.”

“Yeah?” Mitch says, surprised, and he nods his confirmation. “You ain’t so bad yourself.” They both jump a little as the radio crackles, then a voice comes through.

_“That was Blue Suede Shoes... Now we’re gonna slow it down for all you cats at makeout point, happy necking-”_ The voice fades out as the first, soft chords of ‘Love Me Tender’ begin. Jonas swallows loudly, his face starting to flush. They’re still for the first few notes.

“D’ya... still wanna dance?” Mitch asks, just above a whisper.

“Um. Y-yeah,” he manages to squeak. Mitch straightens, unwinding one arm from around him to take his hand. Their fingers twine together. He presses Jonas into him, hand flat against his back, and rests his cheek against his dark curls. As they begin to sway slowly, this time more in tune with the music, Jonas brings his arm around Mitch.

He presses his cheek into Mitch’s chest, letting his eyes slip closed. He breathes in the scent of Mitch and buries his face into the warmth of his t-shirt. He’s never felt so at peace; so protected and safe and happy. The fingers which engulf his hand tighten. His heart almost stops as he hears Mitch singing softly into his hair.

_“For my darling, I love you, and I always will,”_ the radio and a voice above him chorus together.

The sound of the wave is mute to his ears and the salty air no longer chills his skin as the gentle pluckings of the guitar fill the air. He’s engulfed by Mitch. His warm breath against his hair, his big hands, his swaying body. The song fades and the sound of the ocean returns, but their swaying doesn’t stop.

“Joey,” Mitch whispers into his curls.

“Mm?”

“Go steady with me.”


	2. Searching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy this is a long one and an angsty one? kinda angstier than i intended??
> 
> i promise it'll get happier in the final chap if you choose to stick around lol!
> 
> TW for this chapter they experience homophobia and there is a fight anddd people just generally being dicks (no slurs tho)

“What d-did you say?” Jonas whispers into Mitch’s shirt, his heart beginning to pound.

“Go steady with me,” he repeats. His voice is pleading and vulnerable, but serious. Jonas’ body freezes, the moment broken. Mitch’s body stills in response, but he doesn’t loosen his grip.

“You... you know that can’t happen.”

“Why the hell not?” he responds, and it makes Jonas’ stomach flip. Mitch is going to get defensive.

“What? What do you _mean_ why not? W-we’re both men, Mitch. We can’t get married, we could never really b-be _together,_ ” he chokes out softly. Mitch’s hands pull back. His body is gone in an instant, his arms crossed and eyes angry. Angry and hurt.

“Ru’s been with his partner for 23 years, I don’t see what the fuck you mean by-”

“I mean _that,”_ Jonas says, beginning to panic. “They’re not... really married. They’re- they call themselves partners-”

“So a fuckin’ piece a’ paper from the man is what says who you can or can’t love?” Mitch spits. “That’s bullshit, fucking bullshit and you know it.”

“People will... they won’t understand,” he pleads, holding his hands up as Mitch brings his fingers to his head to grasp at his greased brown hair. His knuckles go white and his hands shake as he closes his eyes. Desperately, Jonas continues, “And yes, yes I know that people like the ones at Ru’s exist but for all of them there are people like Dean, or Neil, or- _anyone._ People that’d _kill us_ if they knew.”

“I don’t give a _fuck_ about them, Joey! I only give a fuck about you, and I’d never let anyone hurt you,” Mitch howls. He darts out to Jonas, who flinches as big hands, sticky with hair product, engulf his fingers. “We’ll get outta here. Move far, far away. Have a little house somewhere on the water, like this. I’ll build it for you so it’s perfect. I’ll do anything. Whatever you want. And we can just get away from all this shit and be _together,”_ he begs, his amber eyes filled with sadness. Jonas’ heart pulls painfully.

“People talk, Mitch.”

“Then don’t fuckin’ listen to ‘em. Listen to me. I love you,” Mitch’s fingers move up to cup his face, and they’re trembling. “I love you and you’re mine. Please, I can’t be without you, you’ve gotta be mine. Forever. Please.”

“W-well, if that’s what you want, what difference does going steady make-”

“It means you’re mine, only mine, forever.”

“But that’s what I-”

“It means you’ll run away with me.”

Mitch blurts out the words urgently. He can only whimper in response as the tears he’s been holding back overflow. They start slow, trickling slowly down his cheeks until he takes a ragged breath in and chokes out a sob. His shoulders shake from the force of his cries. He isn’t strong enough or brave enough to do what Mitch wants to do, what _he_ wants to do. To run away. It’ll never happen because he’s weak.

“We can’t, we _c-can’t-”_

“Yes. We can,” Mitch says firmly, wiping his tears away. Suddenly his face is close, and without warning he plants a ferocious kiss on Jonas, who gasps into his mouth. “Whaddya want? 2 bedrooms? 3? I’ll build you a house with 5. Anything, Joey, _anything,”_ he begs.

“No, Mitch-”

“Fuck, 6 then,” he kisses him again. “And a porch,” another kiss “I’ll paint it white for you” another “-or pink,” one more “-or yellow or purple or whatever the fuck you want because I need you, please.” His voice is starting to get desperate and panicked.

“I’m scared,” Jonas finally spits out, and shakes Mitch’s hands from his face, covering it with his own trembling fingers. “I’m not s-strong enough, I’ll never be s-s-s- _UGH.”_ He slams his fists angrily into his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. Mitch yanks his hands away, wrapping them up together between his fingers, and Jonas opens his eyes.

Mitch is on his knees, staring up at him with the most adoring, heartbroken expression. He warbles out another cry, trying halfheartedly to pull away from Mitch’s grasp. Instead, Mitch brings his fingers to his lips, kissing softly.

“Every day could be like today, baby. Weren’t you _happy?”_

Happier than he’d ever been.

“How would we e-ever keep the secret? I can’t live underground f-f-forver...”

“If we get out of here, we won’t _have_ to,” Mitch pleads. Jonas shakes his head.

“I... I don’t believe you, I d-don’t think anywhere we go will be safe for us to be _us_. I’d be too scared- I’m too weak- it’s too- ” he starts to panic, speaking through sharp breaths. He yanks his hands hard away from Mitch, clutching them against his chest as it begins to twist. Big hands cradle his face as the world seems to tilt. He’s pulled down, leaning until his forehead is pressed into Mitch’s. Softly, Mitch begins to whisper against his lips.

“I... I know I ain’t a good guy, Joey. I’m dumb, I’m mean, I got a hot temper and- shit, I don’t gotta go on. You know all that. But if you can’t be strong, _I_ will. For you.” Jonas starts to protest, but Mitch interrupts him. “No. Listen. I couldn’t deserve you, not in a million years, but if you go with me... I’ll make you so happy. I will. You can listen to Elvis all day, and have all the strawberry milkshakes you want, and I’ll cook you supper every night, baby. I’ll sing you to sleep with a lullaby. I will make you happy. I’ll make you the happiest guy in the world because I’ll do-”

“Anything?” Jonas squeaks. He receives a nod. “Like... add a guestroom for Sidney?” Mitch looks confused for a moment before his eyes widen.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “Yeah, I’ll-”

“Or paint the house blue... with white shutters?”

“Ye-”

“Add one of those, um... porch swings? And plant a garden full of hydrangeas?” Mitch starts to concede, nodding excitedly, but he continues. “Not on the ocean, but on a lake, with a dock? To swim in the summer...”

“I’ll dig you the lake.”

 

“It could... have a tire swing. I’ve always wanted an orange tree and a big front yard...”

“You can stare at ‘em out the bedroom window I give you. It’ll be huge, so you can wake up with the sun. I’ll bring ya breakfast in bed.”

“You’d do that for me?” He mumbles, his eyes starting to become wet again.

“Yeah. Everything. All of it and more. Every damn day for the rest of forever... Go with me.” There’s a long silence. Mitch doesn’t stop rubbing his fingers, kissing them gently, looking up with begging eyes. He looks up to the sky, listening to the sound of his heartbeat roaring in his ears before he before he takes a brave breath.

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Somewhere safe.”

“When?”

“Now,” Mitch jumps up, pulling him to his chest. He squawks and begins to stutter, all bravery gone. Desperately he tries to explain to him how ridiculous this all is, but Mitch cups his face. “I’m serious. Let’s get the fuck outta here. Drive ‘til we find a lake somewhere and settle down.”

“This- we- no, it can’t happen _now_. Wh-what about school?” he questions incredulously, but Mitch just furrows his brows determinedly.

“We’ll get by.”

“Your aunt, your mom... our _friends,”_ he babbles, but Mitch just strokes his hair reassuringly.

“They care most about us, baby. They’re gonna be the ones who’ll tell us to go if we don’t tonight. We ain’t sayin’ goodbye forever, we can write them and call.”

“Sidney,” he whispers, more to himself than to Mitch as he looks out to the water. His pulse is thumping, his head is hurting, his chest is twisting.

His mind tells him _‘can’t do this, it’s all too fast, there’s no plan, there’s no destination.’_

His heart tells him _‘go.’_

“Leave ‘er a note. Tell her you’re goin’ where you’ll be safest and you’ll write when you have the address,” Mitch says breathlessly, tugging him towards the car. His feet follow, though his mind tells him to stay still.

His heart thuds in his ears as they drive, windows open, down the quiet and dark streets. This isn’t like him, making a decision on impulse without any semblance of a plan. It should feel wrong and scary and stupid, but it doesn’t.

It feels right.

Okay, and a _little_ scary. But only a little.

When they pull in front of his house it seems to loom high into the sky. He swallows, trying to rid the lump in his throat, but it remains.

“Want me to come in?” Mitch asks, but he shakes his head. He needs to do this alone. There’s a good chance Dean has stayed up waiting for him, and if Dean and Mitch ran into each other... well. Mitch probably doesn’t want to go back to the pen, so that needs to be avoided. Jonas might get a hard slap, or cruel words, but Dean can only be so livid with him for staying out all night without telling them where he was.

Well. Actually. He’s never done this before, so he truly has no idea how livid his caregiver could be. As he tiptoes up the walk, something dreadful in his heart tells him if he has to talk to Dean, there’s no way he’s going anywhere.

Jonas creeps slowly as he can up he steps, but his blood runs cold as he sees a piece of paper wedged into the post box with his name scrawled across the top. He plucks it out, eyes straining to see in the moonlight, scanning the page but not reading. He catches the major words.

 _‘Your ungratefulness... disrespected me for the last time... don’t bother coming in, you’re no longer welcome... no true man is a-’_  his throat catches hardest at the final word.

He had thought it was the staying out all night that would set Dean off, but that last sentence tells him it’s something else.

Dean knows about... him.

How had Dean known he was out with Mitch? Maybe someone from the high school, or an officer, maybe one of Sue’s friends. Someone had seen them. Someone must’ve seen them going into Ru’s. Or maybe it was the cop who had interrupted them in the car? He may have known Dean even _if_ they were caught in a different town. God, he might even work at the same station, maybe he was a Sellwood officer covering for someone, or-

With the shaky exhale of a breath he didn’t notice he’d been holding, Jonas realizes that there’ll always be someone. Someone who doesn’t support his ‘lifestyle choices,’ as Dean had called them in the letter. Somebody who’d make sure he paid the due price for them.

And now that Dean knows his secret, it won’t be a secret for long. The future in Sellwood seems beyond bleak as he imagines beatings at home, torment at school, harassment in public. Worst of all, he’s sure Mitch will do everything to fight against it, will do _everything_ to protect him. And he knows that a far worse fate awaits those who fight back than the ones who take the abuse. Mitch is a firecracker, tough as nails, and a practiced fighter but he’s no match for an entire town of bigots.

He tells himself it sounds foolish, that somewhere an entire community of people like the ones at Ru’s could exist. People who understand or share or... accept. But he’s new to this world, and Mitch seems convinced that somewhere out there is a safe haven. A place where all the things Mitch promised him can come true.

A place that isn’t Sellwood. A place he needs to find... because he has nowhere to go here. He swallows the lump which grows ever bigger and tries the doorknob.

Locked.

His breathing quickens but he steels himself. Resolutely, he hops off the porch and jogs to the left side of the house. He sighs in relief as he sees a yellow glow radiating from Sidney’s window. To alert her, he chucks an acorn from the yard at her window.

It misses miserably.

It takes him four times before he connects, then two more until he connects again. Just as he winds up with another, the window opens. Sidney looks confused until she locks eyes on him. Her face changes, equal parts relieved and angry. His stomach drops. It’ll be mostly angry when he tells her what he’s about to do. Her eyebrows pull together, but she nods toward the door. His heart picks up as he runs back, through the now-open door and into her arms. Sidney holds him tentatively, and when he looks up she’s staring at the street.

“Is that him,” she hisses. He looks at her, silently willing her to read his mind, but she just stares. Without answering, he starts up the stairs, his sister on his heels until they reach his room. The door shuts and he moves quickly, throwing open his drawers and pulling clothes out, tossing them into his old knapsack.

“What’re you _doing?!”_ she whispers harshly. “Dean will be fine in the morning, you’re not going anywhere, he’s just- wait, what the hell is that?! Where did you get that?!” she yelps as he pulls a wad of dollar bills from his sock drawer.

“I saved up my birthday money,” he answers, unfolding the bills and flattening them before sliding them into a pocket on his bag.

“That was like 9 dollars Jojo. What are you doing?”

“Th-the note said to go so I’m... going.”

“No, no, no, you’re acting way too weird about this. And you aren’t going anywhere.”

“I... I am, Sid. I’ve made my decision. I’ll write you, and tell you my address, and you can come-”

“Who _are_ you? What’s gotten into you?” Sidney’s eyes begin to narrow, and her voice turns icy as she spits, “This isn’t you. Is _he_ making you do this?”

“He... Mitch? No,” Jonas says earnestly, but his voice wavers slightly at the end. Sid’s hand reaches out to clutch his upper arm hard.

“He can’t control you like this Jonas. Don’t let him-”

“He wouldn’t, ever. He’s- he’s in love with me and I think I’m in love with him,” the words cascade from him. “He makes me so happy, and I just know I c-can’t be happy here. God Sid I’m not even _safe_ here anymore.”

His sister’s lips purse as her eyes fill with sadness.

“But... you can’t just _leave,”_ her voice cracks, and it’s the first time Jonas has ever heard her sound vulnerable. Dropping his knapsack to the bed, he pulls her into a hug, her arms engulfing him even tighter than he holds her.

“I can’t stay,” he whispers into her hair. He hears a soft sniffle against his shoulder and his eyes overflow again, hot tears tracking his face. Sidney pulls back, wiping the back of her hand roughly against her eyes.

“Shit, I know... you promise you’ll write? You have to promise,” she says, the strength returning to her voice. He bites his lip and nods. “Okay,” her soft voice is satisfied, and she leaves his room. He returns to packing, but his vigor is gone. His hands feel like lead.

Sidney’s back sooner than he expected, a small burlap bag in her grasp. When it’s shoved into his hands, he peeks in and immediately starts shaking his head. It’s filled with his toothbrush and paste, a comb, a bar of soap, a notepad with a ballpoint pen, and 6 dollars.

“I’m not taking this money.”

“I know you’re not taking it. I’m _giving_ it to you. It’ll make me... feel better, knowing you have it. I guess. God Jojo, be safe.”

“I will. Thanks Sid. I-I love you,” he pulls his knapsack over his shoulder. She follows him downstairs and back out onto the porch.

“Love you too,” she whispers in the dark, and before he turns to the car he catches her eyes starting to look wet again.

One last hurried hug and he’s running back towards Mitch’s hotrod.

“Baby? Is everything okay? Mitch asks, his voice colored with concern.

“Just drive,” he croaks, covering his eyes.

“Not if-”

“Mitch, if you don’t go _right now_ , I don’t know if I’ll be able to do this.” The big hand resting on his head pulls away, but drops to his knee to rub soothingly. As if the radio senses the tension in the air, ‘I Love you, Love You’ starts to play. Mitch begins to hum subconsciously, still stroking his knee. Almost instantly, the long fingers and rough humming wash calmness over him, which battles with the anxiety swirling in his gut. Gradually, Mitch’s hands and voice soothe it away. He lets himself settle into the seat. The air flowing through the open windows seems warmer.

Until they pull next to Lorraine’s bubblegum pink trailer, where he’s reminded of just how cold the town is. Long, black streaks of paint form messy letters, scrawled into disgusting slurs. They cover the walls, stain the windows, mar the door. Every word, every insult manages to make its way onto the trailer. His eyes prick with tears as Mitch’s hand leaves his thigh to grip the wheel tight. They’re quiet again, engulfed in a silence which feels heavy and serious. The music seems out of place. The lighthearted, loving scene they painted at the beach is gone.

Leaving doesn’t feel so liberating anymore. It feels like fleeing.

Jonas jumps as Mitch throws the door open angrily.

“I’ll be just a second,” he says tightly, and Jonas gulps.

He squeezes his eyes shut, alone in the front seat. Thoughts of the people who vandalized the trailer waiting in the bushes plague his mind, so he rings his sweaty hands. Mitch is true to his word and emerges from the trailer after only a couple minutes, balancing a wooden box delicately in his hands. He tosses a burlap sack unceremoniously into the trunk but gently lowers the box down, carefully situating it on the floor.

“That okay, Buddy?” Mitch asks the box softly, and he receives a chatter which makes Jonas jump. Guilt pricks in his stomach as he realizes he’d forgotten about Mitch’s beloved pet, and though toting him along is just one more thing to worry about, he remains quiet.

In fact, he stays silent as the taller boy finishes arranging the car, when they tear out of the trailer park, and long into their getaway down a two-lane highway illuminated only by headlights.

“Jonas,” Mitch looks at him with worry. The use of his full name has his eyes widening as he shakes his head, trying to clear the fuzziness.

“Y-yes?” He looks over, confusion on his face as Mitch slows slightly.

“...Do you want this?”

“I- well- yes, I don’t think staying is an option- I’m just-”

“Shit. You’re so fuckin’ torn up,” Mitch says, his voice strained as his eyes remain glued to the road. “You gotta be... Sure about this, y’know? This is- this is forever for me. You know that, right?” He notices Mitch’s bruised knuckles going white with tension on the steering wheel. His breathing is uneven, but he tries frantically to make his voice sound calm.

“Y-yes, of course I know. I want forever, I do, I’m just not good with... spontaneity. It makes me anxious, and there’s so many unknowns, and we have no real plan, barely any money, no food _at all_...” he trails off as his voice cracks with worry.

“Well... if you want a plan, here’s mine for tonight. I’m thinkin’ we find a place to sleep and gas up, then we really take off in the mornin. That sound okay?” Mitch’s voice is confident. With shaking fingers and a weak smile, he nods. The taller boy looks at him with a cocked eyebrow but extends a long arm nonetheless. Jonas scoots over to lean into his sharp side, sighing contently as the arm drapes over him. Slowly the tension in their bodies begins to ebb as he melts into Mitch’s side. His eyelids suddenly droop as his blinks become longer, slower, until he’s nodding off in the warmth.

He wakes up disoriented to the flickering glow of green neon. The building in front of him, a motel, seems a bit decrepit with crumbling stucco and chipping doors.

“Sorry baby, did I wake ya?” A soft voice interrupts his confusion. As he tries to respond, he finds his mouth sticky. When he brings a sleeve to his face, he finds Mitch’s leather jacket wrapped around him once more, wet from were he’d pressed it to his mouth. He furiously wipes at the drool on his face with the hem of his shirt.

“No, no, the light did,” he answers in a sleep-clouded voice. Mitch nods and starts to get out of his seat, but looks back in confusion when Jonas slides out with him.

“You should stay in the car,” he says seriously.

“I wanna come... I’ll feel better,” Jonas follows quickly as Mitch protests. His brows furrow, but he turns to walk towards the office.

The air smells thickly of cigarettes and a small television set hums in and out of static. Flies tap and buzz against the windows, seemingly desperate to escape the humid air being circulated by a lazy desk fan. A man in a stained bowling shirt looks at them with contempt when they come in, and Mitch skips the niceties.

“What’s your fare?”

“$2.30 a night,” the man responds, blowing smoke at them. Mitch slaps 3 dollars on the counter, and the man looks up darkly. “That’ll be $4.60 for tha two of ya’s.”

“One room’s fine,” he answers, but it sounds like a threat. The man looks at the boys, slowly down to the money, back to the boys and sneers.

“Get the fuck outta my sight,” he hisses. “Your kind ain’t welcome.”

Jonas’ heartbeat picks up as Mitch stiffens beside him. But before the situation can explode, a timid voice rises from behind the counter.

“Charlie, money’s money. Give ‘em a room with two beds. How’s 214? Will you get the key for me?” A mousy woman with wispy hair emerges, her eyes tired. Despite her obvious exhaustion, she smiles kindly at them as her husband stalks back from where she’d appeared. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just... tired,” she lies, and hands them 70 cents.

“No fuckin’ funny business,” the man hisses at the boys upon return, slapping the key into her frail hand. She leads them out into the night air and upstairs, stopping at a blue door. She places the key into Jonas’ hand, but curls his fingers between hers.

“If you boys are looking to go somewhere permanent, Harbor is about 9 hours South. Follow the signs for San Jose but head Eastward on highway 42. My brother lives there. Go to Willow Tree Farm and ask for James, tell ‘im Patty sent you. He’ll find work for you,” she says in a hushed voice. Her tired, aged eyes never meet him, but instead stare past his shoulder at the crumbling exterior of her motel. With a squeeze on Jonas’ hands, she leaves them in a stunned silence under the glow of the vacancy sign.

The room is dingy but neat, and their eyes widen as they stare at one bed in the middle of the floor. Mitch grins teasingly down at Jonas and kisses his forehead chastely before dashing downstairs to get their minimal luggage. Jonas ignores the racing heartbeat in his chest and drops on the bed, flopping onto his back as the springs protest beneath his weight. He closes his eyes and lays in a half-dream state until a long arm winds around his stomach.

“You gonna fall asleep in your slacks, Joey?” His skin goosebumps as he feels Mitch’s hot breath against his ear. He bolts up with a red face and stutters his way to his knapsack, digging through it without looking at Mitch. Pulling out his pajamas he skitters to the bathroom, shutting the door tightly and sighing. He takes his time, changing with shaky fingers and splashing his face with cool water.

“You’re fine, it’s fine,” he hisses at himself softly in the mirror. He should probably be giving himself some kind of pep talk, but sharing a bed with someone for the first time ever has his stomach twisting with anxiety.

And it just so happens that someone is Mitch, who makes his stomach do other things.

 The breath catches in his throat as he exits the bathroom to find Mitch in a pair of old boxers and nothing else, situating Buddy in a blanket nest on a threadbare chair in the corner. He feels suddenly dorky and awkward in his matching flannel pajama set, but Mitch smiles at him. When he senses Jonas’ discomfort, his smile falters slightly.

“I can, uh, put a shirt on- I mean this is what I sleep in but if you want-” he starts, bringing his hands to cross over his chest with a nervous grin. He seems almost... vulnerable.

“No, this is good,” Jonas breathes without thinking, enchanted by the way Mitch’s sharp hipbones peak over the hem of his boxer shorts. Immediately, he lights up red and blurts, “I mean it’s fine! Fine! I don’t care.”

He flips on the lamp and scrambles under the covers as Mitch shuts the overhead light down. He scooches as far as he can to the other side of the bed, far from the taller boy as his heart thuds. An anxious chuckle behind him startles him, but not as much as the breath on the back of his neck.

“C’mere,” Mitch pleads, winding his arms around his middle and pulling back. His throat goes dry as he feels his backside press into Mitch’s long, sinewy body.

“Sorry. I don’t know how to... I don’t know. I’ve never shared a bed with anyone,” he squeaks.

“S’okay. Me neither.”

Huh. That honestly... surprises him.

“Really?” he turns his head and asks. Mitch nods. He makes a surprised noise, and Mitch is suddenly overtaken by his look of sweet adoration. The dim light of the lamp reflecting off Mitch’s glowing eyes has his head swimming.

“You’re beautiful,” he states simply, but Jonas flushes.

“Oh, golly, no. Jeez Louise, no _way-_ ”

“Yeah. Yes way,” Mitch grins. But the grin fades quickly into something he can’t identify. “You... never told me how you felt. At the beach.”

“At the beach? How I felt about what?”

“About me.”

“Oh,” he says softly, and Mitch’s body stiffens slightly. “I didn’t think I needed to, I th-thought it was obvious I feel the same.”

There’s silence as he feels his companion shift behind him. He gasps as Mitch’s lips unexpectedly make their way to his neck, leaving a trail of light pecks from his ear down to the junction of his neck and shoulder. Mitch grates his teeth gently along the flesh there. A wet tongue suddenly makes its way back to his ear, tracing tenderly along it.

“Say it then,” Mitch prods, hands dropping to his hips and rubbing slow circles. Jonas’ brain goes fuzzy at the sensation of Mitch’s long fingers darting down to stroke his thighs. Each of his movements is full of heat and want and adoration as he continues to play with Jonas beneath the heavy, musty-smelling covers.

“Say- _oh-_ say what?” Jonas mumbles into his pillow as one large hand leaves his thigh to sneak underneath his shirt. The calloused fingertips tickle just slightly as they move up his stomach to rest at his chest, rubbing at the skin with long, languid strokes. Each touch leaves him feeling hot and stuffy; all he wants to do is shed his flannel garments and be wrapped up in Mitch’s arms, feel their bare skin pressed together.

Bravely, he brings his hands up to tug at his buttons, popping them open with unsteady fingers. Mitch makes a content noise which is just an octave away from a groan and slides his hands down Jonas’ arms, pulling the shirt off. Mitch kisses the smattering of freckles along his shoulders and moves in, over to his collarbone, then to the hollow base of his neck. He rolls over just slightly, onto his back so Mitch is hovering over him. Their breathing is heavy as he cranes his head up, catching the taller boy’s lips in a slow, sultry kiss. His hands tangle into Mitch’s greasy, thick locks as he pulls him down, pressing his face closer as he lets his mouth fall open into the kiss. Mitch’s tongue is eager as it runs over his lip and into his mouth. He can’t help the whimper which escapes him as their bodies press together.

He has no idea where this is coming from, since he and Mitch have never gone past necking in the hotrod.

But here they are. Both half-naked, achingly hard, and starting to sweat under the thick duvet. And it’s amazing, and easy, and _natural_.

“Fuckin’ hot,” Mitch grumbles, tossing the covers off his back and kicking at them until they bunch at the end of the bed. Jonas can’t help but giggle, but Mitch catches it between his lips the moment it comes out his mouth. “Unh-uh,” he scolds, “ya still haven’t said it.”

His face heats up. As he breathes in unsteadily, ready to answer Mitch’s begging, big hips roll down into his. All that leaves his mouth is a wild moan as he feels every inch of Mitch press into his clothed erection.

“C’mon,” Mitch groans against his mouth, rolling his hips down in fluid but desperate rhythm. “Say it. For me. Please.”

Jonas’ eyes roll back as he spreads his legs, allowing Mitch to get between them and in doing so get even closer to him. He bucks his hips messily into the ones above him, reveling in the moan he earns. Without warning, Mitch falls to his side, pulling Jonas with him. Gripping a freckled, flannel-clad thigh, he hitches Jonas’ leg over his hip. Planting one hand firmly on his ass, anchoring their bodies together, he slips the other under Jonas’ head to cradle his face close. He pulls his face back with an over-exaggerated pout.

“Please,” he whines, and Jonas laughs.

“You’re such a big _baby,”_ he teases through his giggles, but smiles gently up. “I can’t believe I love you.”

“But you do?” Mitch ducks to press his lips into his jaw, along his ears, against his cheeks. “Really?”

“I really do love you... you big baby.”

“I’ll make ya pay for callin’ me that,” Mitch growls into his neck.

“Yeah, I’d like to see you try,” Jonas taunts. Mitch chuckles darkly into his skin as the fingers on his butt grip a bit tighter. A long leg slides between his own and in an instant, their hips are flush together.

Oh, good golly.

Mitch is so hard, and feels so big, and is pressed right into him. Mitch secures his body and resumes his thrusting, more desperate now. Jonas clings to him wherever he can get his hands, burying his face into his slender chest. He’s so _hot_ everywhere as Mitch’s hand caresses at the waistband of his pants, his long fingers dipping beneath he flannel to tease at the dimples on his back. Before he can stop himself, Jonas moans wantonly into Mitch’s mouth, low and wicked.

“Yes-” he hisses, and Mitch flips him to his back. The fingers pause at his waistband.

“Underwear, too?” Mitch asks roughly, staring at him with intensity. He blushes something fierce.

“I-I’m- I’m not wearing any,” he squeaks. Mitch’s eyes widen.

 _“Fuck,”_ he growls, tugging his pants down. Jonas inhales sharply as his hips are exposed, but lifts them so Mitch can pull his pants off completely. He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling raw and exposed and vulnerable under Mitch’s gaze. The gasp which he hears is uncharacteristically delicate. Fingertips stroke the soft skin of his inner thighs, making him shiver and whimper.

“God,” Mitch’s voice breaks, “The shit I could _do_ to you. You’d think I was a fuckin’ monster if I ever told you.”

Mitch’s fingers run over him, stroking every inch of his body, but his eyes stay closed. Mitch groans as he drags his fingers over Jonas’ nipple, watching his cock jump in response. His touch becomes hypnotizing as he growls more sweet nothings disguised in filth.

“You know how much I’ve thought about this?” Big hands slide from his jaw down his neck.

“I wanna _taste you_ , I wanna hear what my name sounds like on those pretty lips” His chest is fondled.

“I could fuckin’ eat you alive.” Fingers run along the dark hair between his thighs.

“Do you know what you _do_ to me?” The stretch marks on his belly are traced. Only now does he open his eyes, because oh, god, _yes._ He feels exactly what he’s doing to Mitch pressed into his naked thigh.

When he stares into Mitch’s amber eyes and reaches down, rubbing the rock solid bulge in his boxers, he’s convinced that the old Jonas Wagner was left way back in Sellwood. The new Jonas is more confident, and braver, and he’s going to _damn well get what he wants._

Mitch chokes out a groan like a wounded animal and blushes furiously at the sound that leaves him. Almost in retaliation, he finally wraps a big fist around Jonas’ aching dick.

“Oh god,” Jonas cries out, “More, oh god Mitch-”

“Touch me, baby, please,” Mitch begs into his mouth, kissing him sloppily while jerking him off in a torturously quick rhythm. His hands slip clumsily but eagerly into Mitch’s boxers, fingers curling around his length. He tugs Mitch’s boxers down and together they fumble them off, now both naked in the open air of the bedroom. The noise Mitch makes is intoxicating, and Jonas is on a power trip.

He ducks down and bites hard onto Mitch’s neck. Like an animal he licks against his skin, tasting the sweat along his jugular and drowning in the groans he earns. With his free hand he twines his fingers into Mitch’s hair and pulls down, crushing their lips together in a bruising kiss. Only his fingers betray him, still shaking as he strokes along Mitch’s cock.

“Joey, holy _shit,”_ Mitch says incredulously as they break from a savage kiss, panting into each other’s skin. He stares into amber eyes, his gaze clouded with lust, and arches his back.

They freeze for a moment as their naked bodies press together, but the moment passes quickly as Jonas’ eyes roll back with an unhinged moan. Mitch seems to lose all restraint, gathering Jonas in his arms and grinding down into him wildly, sliding his hands underneath Jonas’ plush ass to give himself more leverage.

Jonas is sure he’s crying out, or moaning, or maybe even screaming, but he can’t hear a thing as he wraps his legs around Mitch’s hips. Mitch’s thrusting jolts and stutters as he presses his face further into Jonas’ dark curls. The way Mitch groans into his hair and moves his hips just right makes his head swim. They’re a mess of kisses and whines and sweat, precum leaking onto their stomachs as they grind. Finally, he hears the way he’s sobbing against Mitch’s shoulder and his hips burn uncontrollably. They tighten furiously out of nowhere, and his orgasm rushes over him like a tidal wave. He hears himself calling out Mitch’s name again and again, God, _so loud,_ but he can’t seem to stop himself.

“Did you-?” Mitch starts as his warm cum begins to slick their movements.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes, his hips shuddering with the final tremors of his high.

“Oh fuck, fuck, _Joey-”_ it seems his whimpered admission is all it takes to push Mitch over the edge too. The bucking of his hips becomes almost mean, skirting along the edge of being too rough as Jonas is pushed further into the lumpy mattress. Mitch’s cum joins his own, pressed between their bodies as Mitch rests his face against his cheek, panting hotly against his skin.

He feels boneless and exhausted as Mitch rolls off him but stays close, their fingers just slightly touching as he leans down to peck Jonas’ shoulder. In his half-sleep state, he feels Mitch kiss him all over, only gathering the energy to kiss back when his lips feel Mitch’s press into them. The bed shifts as the taller boy leaves to fetch a towel, cleaning the sheets as best he can and wiping the majority off Jonas’ stomach. When the bed dips down under Mitch’s weight again, Jonas curls into the heat radiating off Mitch’s body. Though he’s already more asleep than wake when Mitch shuts down the lamp, Jonas still hears the gentle “I love you,” against his temple.

In his haze, he even says it back.

When he rises in the morning, Jonas experiences the strange vertigo of waking up in an unfamiliar place. For a moment his brain expects to wake up to his room, his quilt, his white walls and blue curtains. But as the musty comforter scratches against his bare thighs and dust-speckled light leaks in through the torn curtains, his stomach flips before the memories of yesterday come back, and with them a strange feeling of nervousness. He rolls over and hears something crinkle beneath his shoulder.

A sleeve of Little Debbie chocolate-covered donuts sits on the bed next to him, partially crushed from where he laid on them. A sleeve of powdered ones sits on the nightstand beside a bottle of apple juice.

But no sign of Mitch.

Curiously, he leans over to pull the powdered ones from the nightstand before he jumps at the sound of a door opening. He whips around to see Mitch emerge from the bathroom, fully dressed with his hair soaking wet and a towel around his neck.

“Mornin, baby,” he says cheerfully.

“Gosh, you showered already?” Jonas says, stifling a yawn behind his hand.

“Yeah. Had to. Was covered in splooge,” Mitch barks out a laugh as Jonas flushes red, realizing how uncomfortably dry the residue on his stomach feels.

“No, no, I meant it that you’re up early. You got up early,” he explains quickly.

“I guess. Most nights I don’t... really sleep so good. So I just get up,” Mitch shrugs. Jonas lifts the donuts.

“What’re these?”

“Breakfast,” Mitch beams. “I told ya I’d bring ya breakfast in bed every morning, right? Gotta start now,” he explains as he towels his hair.

He’s speechless. When he and Mitch had promised each other everything yesterday, all the sweet things they’d said... he had no idea Mitch would really stay true to his word. It makes him feel... sure. Not totally, but much more than he was. Suddenly, Jonas’ eyes are uncomfortably blurry. He turns away to place the powdered package back on the nightstand, blinking quickly. Pulling the covers up to conceal his still-naked body, he tears into the chocolate-covered ones, watching Mitch style his hair.

“Want some?” he offers one, but the taller boy shakes his head.

“Already ate,” he says. Jonas furrows his brows. There’s no garbage anywhere, no missing donuts, no evidence that Mitch had eaten. But before he can comment, Mitch continues.

“Found a map in the corner store I bought those from. Doesn’t have Harbor on it, but it’s got San Jose, so I figure we’ll find our way from there. Should probably head out soon if we don’t want that asshole to see us. You did a number on me last night, Spots,” Mitch chuckles and turns his head to reveal a small, dark bruise on his neck. Jonas blanches at the hickey.

He’d marked Mitch up.

Why did that make him feel so proud?

Still, he blurts out a shy “I’m sorry,” through a mouthful of donut. Mitch grins back wickedly.

“This? This ain’t nothin’ Spots. You should see my back,” with a breathy chuckle he turns and yanks his t-shirt up. Red marks, obviously made by Jonas’ fingernails, crisscross his skin. Some even look a little deep and almost bruised. Jonas’ jaw drops open. He starts to say something, but can only shut his mouth.

“And you should probably check _your_ neck out before you go sayin’ sorry to me,” Mitch teases, walking over to the bed and leaning over him. “But I bet I could find some space to give ya a couple more,” his voice drops low as his grin turns wicked, and he leans down, catching Jonas in a deep kiss. A muffled, surprised noise leaves Mitch as Jonas winds his arms around his shoulders and pulls him down to lay on top of him. Despite Mitch’s words, their kisses are languid and gentle, nowhere near as lustful or charged as the night before.

A scratching at the door interrupts them, and when Mitch looks over his shoulder Buddy stares back at him blankly. He chatters and lifts one small paw, scratching at the door once more.

“Fuckin’ _cockblock,”_ Mitch grumbles, but rises off Jonas to walk to the door and scoop his pet up. “Take your time gettin’ ready, angel. I know it’s early, but I wanna head out.”

Mitch returns with an armful of Buddy as Jonas finishes the donuts and pulls a suspender over his shoulder. Mitch smiles lovingly, but he stares back with a frown.

“Seriously, I look like I got strangled. Aren’t we supposed to be discrete?” he complains, buttoning his collar up his neck to try and cover the plethora of hickeys Mitch left. It’s futile, so he just sighs and pulls up the other suspender.

“I just can’t help myself,” Mitch grins. “You like that song, yeah?”

“What song?”

“ _For I can’t help falling in love with you,”_ he croons.

“I think you’re trying to butter me up by singing me Elvis,” Jonas responds and clamps his mouth hard to keep from smiling.

“Is it workin?”

Jonas simply pushes him, tossing his knapsack over his shoulder. Mitch settles Buddy into his crate and they leave the privacy of the room for the chilly morning air. The sun is shining somewhere behind hazy clouds and a heavy fog settles just above the tops of the trees. The feeling of discomfort comes rushing back to Jonas as they pack the car, glancing over their shoulders cautiously. He tries to ignore it as he slides into the car and Mitch pulls him close, tearing away from the parking lot to fly down the road.

Neither of them are very good at reading the map, but the street signs seem to match the locations on the paper, so they take it as a good sign. The clouds burn off and the fog lifts as the day brightens, the sun beating down makes the horizon shimmer in the heat. They drive down winding back roads and highways and long straightaways with seemingly no end in sight before they spot a lonesome gas station up ahead.

Mitch jumps from the car when they pull in, promising he’ll be quick. Jonas settles back in the seat, exhausted and hot and getting grumpy from being cramped in the car. He goes to open the door, to check on their luggage and Bud and maybe stretch his legs, but a white car pulls along beside him.

The Rambler Rebel stops dangerously close to the hotrod, and he looks up in confusion. The driver, with slicked-back red hair and freckles that could even rival his, sneers.

“Get your piece a’ junk outta here, poindexter,” he spits, and his passengers laugh. Jonas just doesn’t say a word, looking away.

“S’wrong? Cat got your tongue?” A nasally voice pipes up.

“Nah, but some cat got his _neck,”_ a third voice cracks back, and they erupt in laughter. He brings a hand up quickly to cover the hickeys, as if it will make them any less noticeable. The Rebel jerks forward, pulling in front of the hotrod. The boys jump out through the open windows, walking lazily over to him. The redhead leans down, his eyes hard as he looms over Jonas.

“Get those from your boyfriend, huh? No Sally’s gonna lay a hand on you.”

His blood runs cold as he looks through the driver side window to see two more faces fill the space.

“C’mon, porky, don’t be a wet rag! Where’s your guy at? Who’s the sad sack who has to fuck-” the brunette with the nasally voice starts, but he and the other dark-haired kid are yanked back forcefully by the back of their shirts.

“Fuck outta here,” Mitch growls dangerously, throwing them to the dusty asphalt. Nasal-voice scrambles away, but the other brunette stands with fists at the ready. He doesn’t get a shot before Mitch swings and connects with the underside of his jaw.

The sound of his teeth clacking together makes Jonas’ face hurt.

Shockingly, the kid doesn’t go down, but rather recovers as he reels backwards. Jonas can only watch in horror as the redhead comes up behind Mitch, locking him with his arms behind his head and torso exposed. They struggle, Mitch trying to toss the kid off his back and avoid the swings from the one in front of him, but he’s vulnerable. A hard, _hard_ punch lands between his ribs, and Jonas can feel tears prick in his eyes as he hears the air leave Mitch’s lungs. Like he’d be able to help at all, he slides over to the driver side, tugging at the handle. His stomach drops through the floor as he realizes Mitch locked him in.

Helplessly, he watches another blow land against Mitch’s stomach, then one to his jaw, and an especially hard one to the nose. All he sees is red, but he can’t register _where_ his boy is bleeding. He chokes out a sob as a knife makes it’s way out. He doesn’t know which of them is wielding it, but he screams as it makes its way towards Mitch.

Shockingly, Mitch manages to get a good kick in, planting a Chuck Taylor against the brunette’s chest and sending him flying backward onto the pavement. The knife clatters to the ground and he twists sharply, gripping the redhead by his hair and slamming his head into the roof of the hotrod once.

Twice.

The third slam, Jonas hears a crunch which makes him sick before Mitch throws the limp body back towards the Rebel.

He can’t watch. He doesn’t want to see another drop of blood in his whole life. He’s frightened as he watches Mitch’s wild eyes turn back to the brunette, who stands on shaky feet. In a flurry of motion, Mitch manages to get his hands on him and the knife. His own switchblade against his throat, the kid chokes out in fear.

Jonas is afraid, too.

He’s afraid Mitch might kill this guy right in front of him. Wordlessly, Mitch slams him against the pump and plunges the knife towards his head. The kid squeezes his eyes shut, tears starting to run down his face as he chokes again.

The knife lands an inch away from his cheek, stuck in the metal of the pump. Mitch holds him there for a moment, letting him flounder as he looks at the blade next to his face. The moment he unwinds his hand from the brunette’s collar the kid takes off, running back to the white car which tears off before he’s even fully inside.

Mitch is far too quiet as he walks to the pump and removes the nozzle, beginning to gas the hotrod up silently. Jonas looks past the pumps at the store, where the shop owner stands in the doorway. He’s a small elderly gentleman who looks absolutely shaken. He watches Mitch for another moment before retreating back into his store slowly.

Mitch is still wordless as he slides into the driver’s seat, smelling of iron and dirt and gasoline.

They don’t talk. They don’t even look at each other, instead staring out the windshield. The only noises which fill the car are Jonas’ sniffles and whimpers and the sound of Mitch’s breath. Seconds drag on, feeling like hours.

“Joey... I’m-”

“Were you going to kill him?” he blurts out. Mitch grumbles and wipes his leather jacket against his face, wincing and smearing the blood along his lips.

“Course not. Was just gonna scare him. I wouldn’t do that with you here,” he mutters darkly. Jonas drops his head into his hands, pressing himself against the door and far from Mitch. He lets a few more frightened tears fall before he wipes at his eyes, staring out at the road.

“We... got 5 hours left. Still want to go?” Mitch says softly, his voice restrained and gentle as to not scare him. He’s still shaking, but he manages to look over. Silently, they stare at each other for a moment before he reaches up to wipe some of the blood off Mitch’s jaw.

Mitch nods and starts the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this chap was 40% fuckin' and 40% fightin' and had about 20% of actual stuff y'all wanna read BUT, thank you for reading as always :)))))


	3. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT DONNNNEEE this has been weighing so heavily on me, ending this has been so HARD i'm still kind of unsatisfied with the end but oh well!
> 
> i really hope this was worth the wait for you wonderful patient readers, thank you for sticking with it!

The landscape changes as they drive, the large trees starting to become sparser and sparser. The greenery turns into small shrubs, grass replaced by arid sand, and the air becomes hotter. The sky seems to open up blue on the horizon over the flat planes which seem to extend into eternity.

There’s been a lot of silence between them lately, Jonas muses. He hasn’t spoken a word to Mitch in... gosh, maybe an hour. The radio’s been fading in and out of static, neither of them have bothered to touch the dial. They haven’t touched each other either, but Jonas has been stealing glances. Mitch’s hands grip the steering wheel firmly, his eyes hard ahead and back rigid. He jumps as Mitch hisses through his teeth suddenly and pulls of the road, kicking up a cloud of dirt as the tires jump over the rough terrain.

“Should I turn back?” He asks, staring at the wheel.

“Wh- No, of course not. We’re too far now.”

“That... shouldn’t be the reason you don’t want me to turn back. I could take you back and you could get away from me.”

“I don’t _want-”_ Jonas starts, but Mitch just continues.

You don’t- fuck. You didn’t need to do this. I shouldn’t have made you do this.”

“You didn’t make-”

“I guess I’m just selfish. You can always get away from me, Jonas. I’m serious. If you want me to turn back, I’ll do it. Right now. For you.”

“I. Don’t. Want-” he tries again through gritted teeth

“And if not now, whenever. If one day in 50 years you wanna leave you can. You should. Because I’m probably just gonna keep fucking up, I always do.”

“Can I talk?” Jonas quips, narrowing his eyes. Mitch falls silent.

“Sorry. You shouldn’t be the one tryin’ to make me feel better. Are you okay?” Mitch’s voice sounds broken. “Were you scared?”

“No,” Jonas lies, thanking a higher power that it sounds convincing.

He can tell Mitch doesn’t believe him. Another long silence before he sighs.

“I’m... sorry that happened,” Jonas says, and Mitch shakes his head reverently.

“No, no, c’mon. Don’t apologize, angel, it ain’t your fault. I’m just...” he trails off and huffs. “We left Sellwood to leave all the bullshit behind. I’m s’posed to protect you, but I scared you, like a stupid fucking idiot- ” Mitch begins to talk faster, his free hand waving wildly in the air as he gets more worked up. Jonas brings his own hand up to dart after Mitch’s as it flies around. He chases it for a moment before he catches it and twines their fingers together. Mitch goes quiet and glances over to him, his face a look of defeat and sharp shoulders slumped.

“I just... I just want somewhere you can be safe. If we get to town and it’s not what that lady made it seem like, I don’t know where the fuck we’ll go.” Jonas skin prickles at Mitch’s tone, and he swallows thickly.

“What happened to being strong for both of us?” He says, words wavering. The tense air of the car cracks when Mitch guffaws.

“I took a fuckin’ fist to the face for you, Joey. You forget that already?”

Jonas grins and brings Mitch’s hand up to his lips, kissing it softly.

“How much longer,” he whispers against the long, bruised fingers.

“Guess maybe like 4 hours,” Mitch answers, his voice settling slightly, and Jonas smiles. With his free hand he plays with the radio dial, tuning it until a station comes through clearly. He grins at Mitch who groans as Buddy Holly’s voice comes through the radio. Wiggling and bopping along in the seat as they catch the end of ‘I’m Gonna Love You Too,” Jonas keeps his fingers tightly twined with Mitch’s.

They beam as a big sign reading ‘Welcome to Sunny San Jose’ rises over the horizon, and behind it a sign for highway 42. They debate for a moment whether the woman at the motel told them to take it east or west, and at the last second Mitch gives in and turns the car sharply to take the eastward exit. Jonas laughs as he’s tossed into the passenger door and Buddy chatters angrily from the trunk.

The last wispy clouds which hung in the sky disappear and tall mountains rise from the horizon. Jonas can’t contain himself, he actually sticks his head out the window to look at them.

They’re magnificent. More wonderful than anything he’s ever seen. The green peaks stretch upwards into the expanse of blue sky, little white caps of snow dusting just the crest despite the heat. The whole landscape seems to brighten as they drive; sparse shrubs become leafier and the woods become denser as well.

For the first time in hours, they’re shaded by tall trees which stand proudly by the sides of the road. Their wide leaves dance gently in the breeze and cast emerald shadows over the horizon.

Even the roads seem to change, with turns becoming sharper and paths more winding. The boys even make their way over a few sweeping hills, a needed break from the flat expanses they’ve been driving over.

When Jonas tears his eyes away from their surroundings, he looks back to Mitch. He’s grinning like a fool, and Jonas laughs in utter elation. When a small wooden sign advertises another 12 miles to Harbor, his stomach leaps in excitement.

The breath catches in his throat as the town appears on the horizon while they accelerate down a hill.

He must be dreaming. He’s never seen anything so perfect. In a strange moment, he wonders if they had died at the gas station and this was the Heaven that Preacher Don always talked about at Sunday morning service. Mitch looks on in a stunned, silent awe as well, but reaches onto his lap to grab his hand and squeeze.

Nestled between the mountains in the distance and the trees, next to the charming houses and clock tower, partially obscured by the steeple of a church, is a lake.

A massive, glittering, deep-blue lake which stretches wide, creating little coves and beaches. White sand and rocks litter its shore as the water laps in gentle little waves only ankle-high. A couple small rowboats sit bobbing on its surface with fishing poles cast into the water. Docks sprout from the land and jut into the blue. Some are populated by canoes or boats but others are occupied by little children, soaked and shrieking as the brave ones jump from the furthest point into the languid waves.

The water twinkles in the light, flashes of the sun catching on the waves and lighting up like camera flashes. The big, tall trees sway in rhythm, pushed to dance by a gentle breeze which carries the smell of spring flowers through the windows.

They drive slowly past a white sign, pretty and quaint with navy letters.

‘Welcome to Harbor,’ it reads. Underneath in smaller letters, ‘est. 1919.’ Jonas nearly chokes as he reads the bottom line, painted in gold script.

‘For all.’

The radio fades out of static, and a joyful guitar melody begins. ‘White Silver Sands’ begins to play, and Jonas laughs at the timing. Mitch laughs too, loud and startling. Suddenly they’re both laughing for no reason, just cackling between sharp breaths, clutching their stomachs and wiping tears from their eyes.

“Holy- holy shit,” Mitch breathes through the last of his chuckles. “Joey, baby, angel. Am I dreaming?”

“I hope not... or I’m dreaming too,” Jonas marvels. Mitch slows, squinting down the road at a small red farmhouse with a wraparound porch sits on an open expanse of land.

“Think this is the farm that lady told us to go to?” Mitch asks, and Jonas laughs softly.

“I’m gonna say yes,” he says, pointing past the little wooden sign that advertises ‘Willow Tree Farm’ at the long driveway lined with trees. Mitch turns slowly down the dirt drive bordered by a rustic wooden fence. The branches of the weeping willows cast enchanting shadows on the home as they pull up.

The yard is littered with toys, bikes, bats and balls which dip into the garden of thick daisies. A wrinkly basset hound snores loudly on the porch, not stirring in the slightest when they walk up the creaking steps to the screen door. Jonas and Mitch look at each other uneasily for a moment before Mitch brings a large fist to rap at the doorjamb. A face peeks out of the kitchen and brightens.

A stunningly beautiful woman approaches the door. Her silky blonde hair is tucked into a bandana; her white linen shorts emphasize her tiny waist as she pads towards them in bare feet. Her blue eyes shine as she smiles, opening the screen.

Her name is Georgia. She’s the woman from the motel’s sister-in-law. Her kitchen smells like roast and pecan pie, and the floorboards of her living room squeak musically. When she learns their names, she breathes out, stunned.

 “Oh, my stars, what a beautiful name,” she sighs and repeats it musically, _“Jonas.”_

The boys are invited for dinner. Well, they’re told to stay. Georgia has the commanding air of a Southern woman who’s request is more law than the law itself.

A clatter has them all turning towards the porch, and two boys run through the door, pushing each other. They’re both only tall as a wheat stalk and covered head-to-toe in dirt and band-aids. Their wild blonde hair sticks around their heads in a halo, looking like the leaves on a Joshua tree, and they thunder into the kitchen. A tall, heavyset man follows them, and introduces himself as James. He smiles at the visitors in his kitchen as if he’s known them for years.

Dinner is... extremely pleasant. Almost unnervingly so, because Jonas can’t remember a time that dinner had every felt so amiable and easy. The family treats them like old friends rather than the strangers they are, their gentle and welcoming nature a stark contrast to everything they’d dealt with in the last 2 days. Much to his shock and delight, Mitch even eats a bit of all the food Georgia fixed.

“I really can’t thank you enough for this,” Jonas starts, elbow deep in soapy dishwater next to James at the sink, “I apologize for dropping in, we just, we didn’t have any other place to go and we just... thank you. I can’t believe our luck of finding your sister-”

“Weren’t luck at all, son,” James hums, “you’d be surprised how many young people pass by Patty’s inn escapin’ somethin’. That’s why she keeps it open despite that mongrel husband a’ hers. Don’t matter to us ‘round here what you’re escapin s’long as you’re good at heart. We all runnin’ from somethin’. But we all got good hearts, too.”

Jonas swallows, his throat feeling dry, and thinks of Chief MacPherson. Growing up in Dean’s house, acceptance wasn’t really an option. Judgment and degradation met anyone who deviated from the norm, or anyone he deemed ‘less-than.’

But... not here. Here, it feels different. It feels nice. Genuine.

Over dessert, Georgia smiles at them apologetically.

“You know, I wish we had a room to offer you, but some farm hands are staying with us right now. I know there’s room at Apple Inn on main street. If you ever need work or a hot meal, you boys come on back here,” she promises, and James nods in concession. They thank them earnestly for their hospitality and make their way out the door, waving to the boys on the swing set and settling back into the hotrod.

Slowly, they cruise down main street in the setting sun. It’s humble and well-kept but incredibly small, and they reach the inn almost immediately. As a whole the town is undeniably lovely, but some buildings seem a bit ramshackle on the outside with their dated architecture and peeling paint. Apple Inn is one of those buildings.

Behind the counter, a woman chews a toothpick with her bare feet up on the window sill. She smiles lazily at them as they enter. She raises her cloudy blue eyes from her book, grinning to display a mouth of crooked teeth.

“Evenin’ cats,” she greets, closing her book. “Never seen you round here. You the boys Patty sent?” They startle slightly.

“How-” Mitch starts, but she shrugs.

“Small town, news travels fast. Need a room, huh?” she quips, toothpick dangling from her lip. They nod. “Well, I have a deal in mind for ya. I need some help runnin’ this place, desperate. It’s just me doin’ the books, the repairs, the cleanin’ and such. You boys can stay here free of charge if you help me out.”

“Of course, oh my goodness, that’s-” Jonas starts gratefully, but Mitch grabs his arm.

“It’s a deal for now. But it ain’t permanent, we’re lookin’ to build a home on the lake and buy some land.”

“If it’s land you’re in the market for, I’d talk to Chuck and Donnie Day. They’re lookin’ to sell their place on Clover Street. 4 acres, got a dock and everything. Already a home on the property though,” she shrugs.

“We’ll do that,” Mitch nods.

“Cool. But for now, you’re mine, right?” She grins sleepily as the boys nod, and tosses Mitch a key. “I saw your machine, so I’m bettin’ you know your way round a wrench tall guy. Round 10 o’clock, will you help me with the radiator?”

“Sounds good.”

“Thank you,” Jonas says. She cocks an eyebrow.

“What for? You’re doin’ as much of a favor for me as I am for you.”

“It’s just... been a long couple days. Thank you, seriously.” He says again, and she chuckles.

“Anything for you, freckles. See you both tomorrow.” She nods and picks her book back up.

When they settle into their comfortable bed, Buddy curled at Mitch’s feet, Jonas sighs. Mitch cracks an eye open, his fingertips dragging softly over Jonas’ bare arm.

“What’s up, baby?”

“Is this... is this real, Mitch?” He whispers, his head resting against Mitch’s naked chest.

“Whaddya mean?”

“I mean... everyone’s so kind. And hospitable. It just seems... too good to be true. Something must be wrong, right? Something has to go bad, it can’t be this perfect.” Mitch is silent for a moment before he shifts to his side, wrapping Jonas up.

“I thought that about you when I first saw you again, after all those years.”

“Thought what?”

“You were too perfect. I kept searchin’ and searchin’ for something that I could find, some way to stop lovin’ you-”

“You- wait, you didn’t want to-?”

“Well of course not. Shit. I never thought in a million years you’d even toss me a glance. I didn’t wanna have my heart broken,” Mitch scoffs. A smile tugs at Jonas’ lips.

“I could’ve broken your heart, huh?”

“Mm,” Mitch murmurs into his hair then dips to plant kisses along his forehead and eyebrows. “Still can. I’m putty in your hands, angel. You got me wrapped around your little finger. I’m all yours,” he purrs, inhaling the scent of Jonas’ skin.

“You sap,” Jonas mumbles, shivering under Mitch’s touch. A hum vibrates against his face.

“ _Your_ sap.”

“Well, my big sap, why don’t you sing me a lullaby?” He feels Mitch’s lip curl against his skin.

“M’kay, what Elvis song am I singin’ tonight? Or are you in a Buddy Holly mood? You got me real loved up, Spots, I’ll even sing Dion for ya.”

“You choose,” he yawns softly into the dark as Mitch turns the lamp out.

“Really?”

“Mhmm,” he mumbles, snuggling into his chest. The sound of Mitch’s chuckle reverberates in his ear.

“I’ll sing ya one my mom loves,” Mitch starts. After a pause, Jonas nudges him.

“Well?”

“Shit, be a little more patient,” he laughs. He starts then, his voice soft and low. _“The first time ever I saw your face,”_ Mitch rocks him slowly while he sings, “ _I thought the sun rose in your eyes_ ,” Jonas melts into him, letting the chorus of Mitch’s heartbeat and singing lull him to sleep.

“ _And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave... to the dark and endless skies,”_

As he fades into dreams, he feels Mitch’s lips against his hair.

_“My love,”_

The next morning, Jonas wakes up to a styrofoam box of eggs and bacon from the local diner.

The morning after that is hotcakes.

The one after that, he wakes up to ham and potato hash.

A few days after their arrival, after Jonas determines Harbor is the place to stay, he decides to call Sidney. Letters may not make it to her with Dean or Sue intercepting them, so one rainy afternoon he and Mitch huddle around the phone in the office of Apple Inn. The operator connects them to 2 wrong Wagner households before they hear Sue’s voice ring out, “Hello, Wagner residence, this is she.”

Jonas panics, the phone pressed against his ear, and looks at Mitch with wide eyes. Mitch yanks the phone away, pressing it to his face.

“Yes- uh- yes, hello,” Mitch starts, putting on a terrible Southern accent which makes Jonas drop his face into his hands, “Sidney... Sidney left a... parcel... at school, and we- we need to speak to her about... when she can pick it up?” Mitch shakes his head, making the story up as he stumbles over it with a look of desperation over at Jonas.

The phone goes silent for a moment before they hear “Hello, this is Sidney,” and Jonas pulls the phone back.

“Sid, it’s me,” he squeaks, and he hears a gasp on the line. “I know you probably can’t talk or say anything, but the address is 47 Main Street, Harbor, California. Please write. I love you.” There’s silence on the other line until she speaks softly, her voice wavering.

“Yes, that... works for me. I’ll see you soon. You too. Goodbye,” and the line goes silent for one final time.

Two mornings after the call, he wakes to a warm sticky bun and an envelope addressed to him in his sister’s handwriting.

The mornings continue, just the same, as they fall into an easy routine. Jonas awakens to the smell of food or a kiss and rises slowly, taking his time to make it to the front desk. Sometimes he’ll balance the book or manage guests, clean or stock, but he mostly occupies his days reading the books that Janine, the owner, has accumulated under the desk.

Mitch starts off doing odd jobs for Apple Inn. He fixes the radiator and patches the roof their first week in Harbor. The following week, he paints the exterior of the building and re-slats the bedframes. A week after that, every business and homeowner from Cottage Lane to Sycamore Avenue is calling asking for Mitch’s expertise.

The word expertise of course used very, very loosely. Mitch is lucky he’s street smart, because the majority of his jobs involve a lot of guesswork and error before he gets them right.

But he always manages to. Jonas is positively delighted watching Mitch flourish in his new role. In school, he had seemed apathetic and unmotivated. He’s like a new man; his hands begin to callous from the work, but he still beams at Jonas with immense pride whenever he fixes something.

They take lunch breaks around noon when the sun is hottest. Sometimes they picnic by the lake, their pants rolled and feet dipped in the water as they eat berries grown by the Campbell family and hens raised by the Bennett sisters before finishing with a slice of the pecan pie Georgia bakes them.

Most days, though, they stay in their room for a little afternoon delight which leaves Jonas glowing for the rest of the day. Janine always teases him about ‘why his darn stomach growls s’loud for the whole evenin’ despite such a long lunch break,’ but he just laughs it off.

It takes almost a full month before they can go to the Day’s property to meet Don and Chuck. Their land is beautiful and populated with mature trees, with a white sand beach and a decently sturdy dock.

The boys stand in the shadow of the house, overwhelmed and slightly sickened at the idea of a full renovation on a 5-bedroom, 38-year-old home before the older men present them with a napkin from the local diner. Written in Don’s capital-letter handwriting is a simple contract. Mitch and Jonas will only pay for the land, appraised at 95 dollars an acre, on a monthly plan.

Within 4 years, the property will be theirs.

The first day in their “new” house, Jonas wonders if they’d jumped the gun. It seems almost all the floorboards need to be replaced, the sheetrock is cracked and chipping, every room needs a repainting, and that’s not even to mention the fireplaces that need to be refaced and the cabinets which appear to be structurally unsound.

“No critters!” Mitch says excitedly, plopping their meager luggage on the floor and sending up a whirling cloud of dust.

“How- how did they live here?” Jonas coughs and waves his hand around, trying unsuccessfully to clear some of the dust. The house seems even more barren and derelict now that the Day’s furniture has been cleared out, worn spots on the floor from where table legs and chairs had scratched the hardwood.

“Like kings,” Mitch retorts, opening the cabinets and inspecting the woodwork. He bounds upstairs and Jonas follows, each step creaking beneath his feet as he traces the sound of Mitch’s footsteps to the largest bedroom. It’s dirty and a bit musty but seems to be in the best condition of all the bedrooms.

“This is where your window’s gonna go...” Mitch’s voice is just above a whisper as his eyes trace the wall facing the lake. His fingers graze the paint, rolling the years of dust between his fingertips as he confirms, “Yeah. Giant, giant window. And it’ll start riiiiiiight-”

Jonas jumps as Mitch winds up and puts a fist straight through the wall.

“Here.”

“Mitch,” Jonas had intended to yell, but instead his voice comes out breathy in shock.

“Yeah, no, you’re right. I don’t think it’s big ‘nough either,” Mitch muses as he moves and puts his fist through the wall once more, almost a full foot from the first punch.

“You... the wall...” his words barely squeak out.

“Really, you want it even _bigger?_ ”

“NO god no, no,” Jonas yelps and grabs Mitch’s fist, “That’s fine, that’s perfect.”

And it is perfect. The house and their new life are both perfectly imperfect in just the way they could’ve wished for.

It’s not all sunshine and flowers in Harbor, of course. They work hard, they struggle, they pinch pennies and live modestly. But it’s darn near the most wonderful life Jonas could ever picture.

A few weeks after he graduates, Javier moves into town and takes up residence in the apartment above the barber shop. He joins Mitch’s handyman service, and the two become a regular dream team. The townspeople take to calling them “Abbott and Costello,” but Jonas prefers to tease by calling them “Lucille and Desi.” Soon, the boys are getting requests for fixes two towns over, and sooner still they’re doing every odd-job and repair in the county. Javier’s help with the house makes their massive project rather quick work.

The demolition parts being the quickest. Of course.

Even so, the two manage to surprise Jonas. Each day the house has transformed just a little when he leaves the inn. It starts gradually, with mended holes and replaced windows. Then the floors are a different stain. Suddenly, the house starts to feel like home as the mismatched cabinets are screwed to the clean, fresh drywall.

But it becomes taxing fast, raking the thrift store and yard sales for pieces of furniture. Their dining set has six different chairs, and Mitch has to reupholster the sofa set they find. They don’t have enough fabric for the loveseat, so it’s upholstered by a patchwork of scraps they’ve salvaged. For the life of them they can’t find bedframes anywhere, so Mitch takes to building them. The long, arduous process leaves him grumpy and frustrated.

He curses under his breath as Jonas teeters on the top of a stepladder, carefully painting the edges of the walls with slow strokes.

“Fuck it,” Mitch yells, and Jonas jumps. “Fuck, these fuckin things are so goddamn complicated. I’m not finishing it! I’m going to bed.”

Jonas sighs. It’s near midnight, and he and Mitch both need to be up early.

“Go to bed, then,” he says brusquely. “Go ahead and try. I don’t know if it’ll do you any good, God only knows we can’t sleep in that room anyway.” Mitch bristles.

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“That _means_ there’s a gigantic hole in the wall so it’s freezing in there, because somebody decided the window had to be 3 million feet across without checking first to see-”

“Oh, I don’t fuckin’ think so. I have been busting my ass on this place, Joey, trying to make it perfect for you, building all these fucking bedframes-”

“Don’t pin that on me!” His voice is shrill, and he’s embarrassed. Still, his ears are hot and the way Mitch’s eyebrows pull together has him seeing red. “I never said you had to build five bedframes!”

“Wha- you- yes you did!” Mitch splutters and throws his hands out, his voice so loud that Jonas can hear it echoing in the kitchen downstairs. He raises his own to match it.

“No I didn’t! I asked you to patch the enormous hole so our bedroom doesn’t feel like the arctic tundra!”

“Yeah?! You hate it so much, sleep on the fucking couch!” Mitch turns on his heel and out the door.

“Fine!” Jonas’ voice cracks as he screams back, making sure Mitch hears him down the hallway

_“Fine!”_ The retaliation is punctuated by a slammed door.

Jonas grits his teeth hard and throws the brush down onto the canvas tarp. He stomps loudly down the stairs through the kitchen, shamelessly dramatic and sure Mitch can hear him through the house. He’s still breathing heavily when he settles into the couch, covering himself in a threadbare blanket they found left in one of the closets before he promptly starts to cry.

It’s nothing big or dramatic like their fight, just soft sniffles accompanied by large, hot tears which wet his cheeks. He doesn’t wipe them away, instead letting them dry onto his skin and create an uncomfortable stickiness.

Halfway asleep, he hears the bottom stair creak. It’s the only one which still makes noise despite the repairs Javier made to them. Mitch crouches beside him, looking positively guilt-ridden, and brings a hand to his hair.

“Hey,” Mitch’s voice shakes just a bit.

“Hi.”

“Any room for me?”

“... I guess,” Jonas muses, and scooches towards the pillows. Mitch settles onto the couch and wiggles his way under the blanket, curling around Jonas up gently.

“I’m sorry,” Mitch breathes against his hair. Jonas sniffles again as his eyes grow unexplainably wet once more. “I know. I know. I’m an asshole, and I’m sorry.”

“No, me too. I just... wanted to fight. It’s not even that cold in the room,” he admits. Mitch kisses his temple and chuckles softly.

“And I know ya didn’t ask me to build all those bedframes,” Mitch keeps kissing, along his temple and slowly to his mouth. Jonas lets his lips fall open, lets Mitch’s tongue invade, lets himself sigh into the feeling. Before he knows it Mitch’s hands are up his shirt, toying with him.

The couch creaks in protest and they ruin the blanket they had been using, but falling asleep against Mitch’s bare chest is so comfortable Jonas can’t think of anything else.

The next morning, when they’re woken up by the morning light and the sound of birds drifting inside on a warm breeze, Jonas is sure he wants to wake up every morning just like this. That is, until Javier bursts through the door yelling about how Mitch’s bare ass is perfectly visible through the living room window.

The boys hang curtains that afternoon.

It takes them over a year to finish their house, but the time flies. They survive a scorching summer on iced tea and cold pops, and an even more brutal winter. A particularly cold November has them shivering, trying to unfreeze the pipes while waiting for their radiators to be installed. They set up a small tree for Christmas, but not much else, since they house is a mess of plumbing for the whole season. It’s a bit sad, lonely in the middle of their mostly-empty living room, but it’s decorated with little bows and a star on top. Two presents sit under it Christmas morning.

For Jonas, a pair of glasses. “You really didn’t notice how much you’ve been squintin’ lately, huh? No, no I’m not saying you’re _old-_ ”

For Mitch, a new winter coat. “You need it, you’re gonna freeze without it, and you ruined your last one when you decided to- yes, _decided_ \- tangle with that tablesaw, for goodness sake-”

They go to Georgia’s for Christmas dinner, Mitch in his jacket, Jonas in his glasses, and Javier in the flannel-lined dungarees they’d saved up for. A thank you present, really.

New Year’s passes, as does Valentine’s Day. St. Patrick’s Day flies by (only after Jonas is called to pick up a heavily intoxicated pair of repairmen from the local pub), and Easter is gone in a flash. For Mother’s Day, they phone Henrietta and send her flowers, promising to bring her down when the house is finished.

On a particularly hot day in August, Jonas comes home to a sight that takes his breath away. Mitch is on the roof, delicately hanging the final shutter on the guest room window. The fresh blue paint gleams in the afternoon light, standing out against the cream color of the house.

“Just like you pictured, huh baby?!” Mitch yells, grinning down at him.

“Yeah,” Jonas calls back, tears clouding his eyes as he smiles. It’s a dream come true until Mitch loses his footing and plummets off the side of the roof, hitting the ground like a sack of potatoes as Javier and Jonas yell out. One broken, bandaged wrist later, it’s finally finished.

The summers are best. Everyone visits in the summer, spending their time on the lake and strolling through the growing town.

In 1960, Sidney moves to the neighboring town to work as an at-home teacher for a family with 2 Deaf children. She uses a ‘signed language,’ which Jonas learns a bit of for fun. Javier buys a place off Sunday Street, a small A-frame with wood paneling and a deck.

Henrietta visits often, staying in the first floor guest room with pale yellow walls with a window out to the backyard and a perfect view of the dock.

Cliff doesn’t have much time to visit, he’s got two little girls and a boy on the way back in Sellwood, but he sends photos. They’re cute kids, despite being blessed with their father’s chin.

Scratch likes to pop in randomly. She never stays very long, maybe two nights at most, and prefers to sleep in their hammock on the porch before she takes off on her motorcycle with a different biker gang each time.

By 1963, it’s officially been 6 years since they left Sellwood. Jonas hasn’t spoken to Dean or Sue since. He’d sent a letter, actually, in April of ’61, but he never got anything back. He doesn’t think of them much anyways. He’s perfectly content with his family in Harbor.

On a late July afternoon, Jonas dips his toes into the warming water of the lake with his bottom planted on the fine sand. The sun sits hot in the cloudless sky, and he feels the warmth begin to sting the back of his neck. Sidney floats lazily in an inner tube, her hand on the dock piling to keep from drifting away, making shapes in the water with her fingers. Henrietta’s on their deck, reading a magazine and petting their temperamental tabby Ferdinand.

The darn thing seems to only like her and her alone.

Javier bursts through the screen door juggling a couple drinks, most likely a few heavily spiked iced teas, as their mutt, Outlaw, prances at his feet. The sound of the door startles Mitch awake in his chair, he snorts as he darts up only to be impeded by the heavy Labrador on his lap.

“Molly, girl, get up. You’re fuckin’ hot,” he grumbles, nudging the pudgy dog’s side with his elbow. Jonas can’t help but laugh as she opens her eyes slowly, exhaling a long breath through her nose at Mitch and beginning to inch of his lap at a snail’s pace.

Her deep brown fur wasn’t the only reason they’d named her Molasses. Javier hands him a drink, and just as he suspected the taste of whiskey permeates the sweet tea. He wrinkles his nose but takes another swig regardless, wanting to loosen up just a little on their day off.

The combination of the drinks and the hot sun make the day pass quickly and before Jonas realizes, the sun has set over the heavy green trees. The sky is purple as the fireflies begin to emerge, buzzing happily through the woods and into their backyard. Jonas steps out onto the porch, his head only slightly fuzzy from the drinks, out of their brightly lit kitchen. Henrietta’s cooked something up that smells like fresh basil and tomatoes, and his stomach rumbles as he watches the fireflies’ show. The raucous laughter and music flows out through the screen door, echoing off the lake and coming back to him.

Long arms wind their way around his shoulders. He leans back with a content hum as Mitch’s lips find their home against his ear, kissing softly as the arms wrap him tighter. He brings his hands to Mitch’s wrists and lulls his head back, knocking against Mitch’s collarbone.

“You good, Joey?” The words are teasing, and he grins.

“Mm,” he sighs, eyes slipping closed. “Peachy. Just... peachy.”

“Lil’ tipsy, huh?”

“You wish,” he snorts. Mitch hums back.

“I do, you’re real frisky with a drink in ya, Spots.” Mitch’s arms loosen as Jonas turns, wrapping his own arms around Mitch’s waist and pulling him close. He leans his chin into Mitch’s muscular chest and stares up at the stubble across his jaw.

“Come here often, handsome?” he flirts, and Mitch smiles back mischievously.

“Now and again, yeah.”

“Hm,” he hums out a laugh and pulls back, raising an eyebrow. “How’d you like to dance?” Mitch perks up as he hears the song streaming from the record player.

“If I ever say no to that, take me down by the lake ‘n shoot me,” Mitch barks out a chuckle, twining his fingers with Jonas’ and pressing a hand into the softness of his lower back. Jonas snuggles into Mitch, pressing his body into the taller man’s and leaning his head into his chest. The sound of Mitch’s voice singing those first familiar words vibrates in his ear.

_“Love me tender, love me sweet, never let me go,”_

He sighs, melting slightly. The sky has darkened even further, but they’re illuminated by a canopy of flashing yellow fireflies and the orange glow from inside their home. He wishes there were words to express this contentedness. He wants to tell Mitch he’s his forever, he always has been, but he’s said that thousands of times and it’s not powerful enough.

_“Take me to your heart... For it’s there that I belong, and we’ll never part,”_

The smells of dinner fill the warm air around him, accompanied by the sound of crickets and frogs chirping away in the trees. From inside, Javier’s deep voice is accompanied by Sidney’s stuttering laugh, familiar and warm.

_“Love me tender, love me dear, tell me you are mine,”_

He loves their deck. And their mismatched cabinets. He loves their blue shutters and the guest room with the rocking chair. He especially loves the creaky bottom step which tells him when Mitch is bringing breakfast up. He loves their orange tree, the rope swing, and the big hydrangeas in the garden. He loves the earthy, evergreen-y smell of Mitch’s t-shirt. With a deep inhale Jonas breathes in Mitch, curls his fingers even tighter, feels the ring on his left hand. Mitch wears his on the left, defiantly, but Jonas keeps his on the right. As the chords begin to fade, he joins Mitch, singing the words engraved on his ring.

_“For my darling, I love you, and I always will.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always always thank you for reading, i wish i could really tell y'all how much it means to me! i made a fandom tumblr so uhhh im there now, https://littlejedii.tumblr.com/ :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! It means the WHOLE WIDE WORLD to me!!
> 
> I uhhh honestly don't have any plan for updates but they will be coming!


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